


The Food of Love

by LovesBitca8



Category: Star Wars, Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Orchestra, Angst, Cello, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Musicians, New York Pops, Rock Star Kylo Ren, Sexual Tension, Violins
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-11
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2019-11-15 10:47:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 55,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18071975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LovesBitca8/pseuds/LovesBitca8
Summary: Rey picked up her first violin at eleven, finding a mentor in conductor and former-violinist Luke Skywalker. With the First Chair up for grabs, Rey is thrust into the spotlight as the youngest violinist to take First Chair in the NY Pops.But Kylo Ren - former violinist, former NY Pops cellist, formerly Ben Solo child prodigy - may take issue with Rey Nobody sitting in his grandfather's chair.In other words, Orchestra AU. The Force is music, but like, really good music. Ben and Rey are both child prodigies.





	1. If Music Be

**Author's Note:**

> HEY! This is my first Reylo fic! I love this fandom so much, so I'm very exciting to sink my teeth in here. I hope you enjoy.
> 
> Please know that while I am a musician, I am not a violinist or a cellist. If I get something DREADFULLY wrong please feel free to tell me, but the ins and outs of playing these instruments is not important here.
> 
> Also, this is absolutely not how the NY Pops works, but when I saw their concert this year, I built this fic while sitting in my seat.

"Thank you! Five stars, coming your way!"

 

She slammed the door of the black sedan and pulled up her stockings before starting a respectable jog towards the house.

 

Mansion.

 

More like a palace really.

 

New Jersey Transit had not been kind to her, and Rey had needed to call an Uber from the-middle-of-nowhere-Jersey just to arrive at a decent time. She didn’t want to ruin Finn’s chance of gratuity just because she was late. 

 

She clutched the violin case close to her side. She always felt a little cumbersome walking around with an instrument, but ever since Luke had bought her a brand new -  _expensive_  - leather case for her violin, she felt even more self-conscious. Her plastic case had been fine...

 

Rey followed the catering staff through the gates to the backyard. 

 

Park. 

 

A national landmark, probably. 

 

She stood gaping at the open grass, meticulously placed trees, pond and — were those geese?

 

A caterer nudged her out of the way. She apologized to their retreating back. 

 

She found Finn waving at her from a Steinway grand piano. On the lawn. Wow. 

 

She checked the time on her phone as she scampered to him. 

 

3:02. Not bad for a 3PM call. Early would have been better. 

 

“All good?” Finn asked as she came closer. 

 

“Look at this piano!”

 

“I know!” He beamed at her. “I met the wedding planner. He’s actually best man too. He’s... prickly.”

 

Finn made that face. That face that said he’d been holding his tongue several times already this afternoon. 

 

“Great.” 

 

Rey looked around again, taking in the latticework arch and the seating arrangements and — yes! Real geese! — and the covered area where the reception would take place. She and Finn weren’t needed at the reception. Apparently there was a  _swing band_  playing tonight. They usually left right after, but sometimes the bride and groom would offer them champagne and even a plate of food if it was buffet-style. She wouldn’t hold her breath today. 

 

She pulled her sheet music from her purse and set herself up on the music stand. There was a chair for her too, which answered the question of if they preferred she sit or stand. 

 

Finn already had his iPad set with the sheet music pulled up. Just as she turned to Finn to go over some of the newer music, a pale, thin, ginger man in a tux clipped his way over to them. He looked like he had recently been assaulted by every person in his presence. 

 

“Oh, you’ve showed up?” He didn’t wait for her response before saying, “Are we on schedule over here?” He said “ssshhedule” and she almost asked him what part of the U.K. he was from. 

 

“Yes, absolutely,” Rey responded. She twisted the cap off her water bottle. 

 

“You won’t have  _that_  on display during the ceremony, will you?” He sneered at her purple water bottle with a Deathly Hallows sticker on the side. 

 

“Um, no. I’ll put it away, of course.”

 

He raised his brows at her, like he didn’t believe her. “Well, feel free to... tune up, or whatever it is you do. Guests will arrive in twenty-six minutes, so be sure to be playing by then.” He said this while walking away, and then stopped, and looked around her. “Did you need someone to help you with retrieving your case from the car?”

 

It was clear  _he_  was not the someone she should wait for, but she had no idea what he was asking. 

 

“My... my case?”

 

He looked as if he was not going to suffer these fools lightly when he said slowly and deliberately, “Where is your cello?”

 

Rey stared at him. She heard Finn stop twinkling the keys behind her. 

 

“My what?” She craned her neck, hoping she would hear him differently that way. 

 

“Celllloooo!” He bellowed at her. “Good god, you’re daft.”

 

Rey was too confused to feel offended. 

 

“I’m a violinist.”

 

The ginger man - Hux, based on his emails... or Mr. Hux? - blinked at her unamused. 

 

“I specifically asked for a piano and cello.”

 

“And we specifically have never advertised ourselves as such,” she said, lifting a haughty brow back at him. “Your email asked for this duo, and this duo is piano and violin.”

 

Mr. Hux scowled at her. She guessed that his scowl could usually change the words that came out of people’s mouths, but not today. 

 

“Oh, good god!” He snapped, falling apart suddenly. His fingers pinched the skin between his eyes.  

 

Rey looked to Finn. His eyes were wide and his mouth opened and closed, like he  _almost_ had something to say. 

 

She turned back to Mr. Hux. "I assure you, we're very good."

 

"Gwen specifically wanted a cello," he moaned. 

 

Rey frowned. People always thought they wanted cello when really, they wanted a string quartet. She'd played this game before. She and Finn had worked with a few of her friends from the orchestra to widen their appeal, branching out to include a second violin and a cello, but they'd ended up losing money, splitting everything four ways. When they raised their rates, no one had bitten.

 

Suddenly Mr. Hux whipped around to look at her hungrily. "Can you  _play_ cello?"

 

Rey pressed her lips together. Of all the stupid questions... 

 

But unfortunately she did play cello a little bit. Luke had given her a few lessons when she was younger, making sure she had a fully-rounded education. She now understood that he'd been testing her at all the strings to see where she would fit best.

 

Rey gave Hux as polite of an expression as she could muster. "I can play the imaginary cello about as well as an imaginary violin."

 

"What's going on here?" A woman with silky black hair and smart eyes appeared over Hux's shoulder. She was in a charcoal grey bridesmaid's dress.

 

"Baz, thank god," Hux said. "We need to call Ben."

 

He dragged her away, speaking animatedly to her in a hushed voice. 

 

Rey turned to Finn. "So... are we playing?"

 

Finn spread his hands across the Steinway and said, "They will have to pry my fingers off this beauty if they want me to go."

 

Rey tuned her violin, checked her hair in her compact, and tugged at the stockings again.

 

Finn started playing, drawing attention from the caterers and ushers. His background was in classical jazz, so he knew how to get people's attention with spiffy versions of Sinatra and jaunty renditions of Ke$ha songs.

 

Rey didn't have a background in anything. Luke always described her to others as self-taught, but that didn't really fit, seeing as he was her mentor.

 

At eleven, she'd escaped the noise of her foster homes to the solitude of Maz's Music Shop in Queens. Maz would let her wander and flip through books, play with old record players, and listen to the music lessons behind closed doors. Rey had been fascinated by the violin lessons especially. The heavy, somber melodies carrying through the thin doors had captivated her. 

 

On a slow Friday morning, when Rey had skipped school to wander to Maz's, the small, bent woman had grabbed an older looking violin and bow and a child's music book from the rack. She'd taken Rey through the beginning finger exercises and postures, moving quickly to basic scales. When a customer came in, Maz allowed Rey to go into one of the practice rooms, and four hours later, Maz had stood in the doorway with a frown on her face. Rey had pulled the bow back from playing the last song in the kid’s book, and asked, "Was it not good?" 

 

Maz had blinked, shook her head, and made Rey promise that if she never caught her at the shop when she was supposed to be at school, Rey could come by on Friday evenings to use the violin.

 

About a year later, Maz gave her the violin. And a year after that, Luke Skywalker had started visiting the music shop on Friday nights. She hadn't known him then, but she started to see the same bearded man stop to listen to her when she'd played at the 14th Street subway station after school. A few times he had a beautiful woman with braided hair with him, and once the woman had approached her while the twenty people applauded, and handed her a $100 bill, saying, "Tuck this away, love. Don't let this sit in the case."

 

Rey had stared up at her with wide eyes and said, "Do you... do you want change? You can have what's in the case—"

 

The woman had smiled and patted her cheek. 

 

When she entered high school she'd been sent to a different foster home in Staten Island, and hadn't seen Maz or Luke for several months. She still tried to play at 14th Street, but she only saw Luke there once. He'd paced quickly through the tiled walls, but then stopped, bumping into commuters, when he heard the strands of Mozart from her corner. 

 

When she stooped to collect her change, Luke had introduced himself. And asked her if she would meet him at Maz's that weekend. So, Rey took the ferry over and began weekly lessons with Luke Skywalker, the conductor of the New York Pops. His sister Leia, the woman who had given her the $100 bill, had been First Chair for years, after her brother, and after their father.

 

At 3:23pm, Mr. Hux stomped back over to the two of them. 

 

“Alright, it’s settled.” A satisfied expression graced his pointy face, which did not spell good luck for her and Finn. “A cello is on the way.” He folded his hands in front of his chest, like thanking a higher power. He lifted his eyes to the heavens and said, “Gwen owes me. So much.”

 

“What do you mean?” Finn asked. 

 

“Our friend is a cello-ist.”

 

Rey would have corrected him if it wasn’t for the creeping fear that had her eye twitching. 

 

“I don’t play without Rey,” Finn said. “If you won’t have her play, then I’ll be leaving too.”

 

Hux huffed and snarled at him. “You imbecile. Little Miss  _Rey,_ here, will  _play_  the cello.”

 

Rey stared at him. 

 

“I’m... I’m a violinist.”

 

“You just said you played cello not ten minutes ago!” 

 

Hux was clearly at the end of his rope, but Rey was still trying to grasp hers.

 

“I don’t... I—“

 

“I don’t have time for this,” Hux drawled. “I need to finish getting dressed. As soon as that cello arrives I better hear the approved song list.” 

 

He marched away from them, checking his watch. 

 

Rey stared, open-mouthed at his retreating back. She spun, and plopped down in the chair, flipping open the music binder. 

 

“Rey, don't listen to him. He clearly has no idea what he’s talking about. You can play the violin. Or let his friend join us on cello.”

 

She stared down at the music, flipping page by page, imagining the fingering, creating the bass clef under the treble with only her eyes. 

 

“Don’t stress. Please, Rey.”

 

“No, I can do this. I can do this.”

 

Luke had taught her how to read music after she’d finished with the beginner’s books Maz started her on. Unfortunately, her violin music for these songs was in treble clef, which meant she would need to turn off a part of her brain and just read the note on the page, and tell her fingers to play that note, regardless of the octave.

 

She heard a truck rattle up the drive. She looked up to see a valet —a fricken  _valet._ For a  _suburban wedding —_  take the keys. A dark-haired man pulled open the small door to the backseat and tugged out a cello case. 

 

Well, fuck. It looked like she was doing this. 

 

She stood to greet this Ben. And her muscles froze in place when Kylo Ren walked toward her, cello case in hand.

 

She’d never really thought his name was actually Kylo Ren, but…

 

He was more than just a cellist. He was a recording artist. Not that that meant much in the classical world, but still. She’d met him for the first time three years ago. Well, could she call it “met him” if he still didn’t know her name?

 

On her eighteenth birthday, Luke had given her a contract of employment with the New York Pops. She’d taken a seat in the violin section, stepping in for someone going on maternity leave. She’d stayed for the past three years, moving towards the front every season, watching carefully as Leia led the string section.

 

Across the stage, Kylo Ren played with the cellos and basses. He showed late to every rehearsal, even missing one or two performances where emergency subs had to be called. He never spoke to her. He never spoke to anyone accept Leia when he questioned a bowing or a tempo, loudly, proudly, self-righteously. He threw a chair once during rehearsal, and had been suspended for the rest of the current season.

 

He was also the most amazing cellist Rey had ever watched in person. She’d come to the rehearsal rooms at Carnegie on a Sunday morning at 8am to fit in some extra practice time, and she’d spent 45 minutes peering at him through a doorway while he worked through Bach’s Cello Suites, stopping every now and then, and starting from the beginning. She never heard anything wrong with the previous play, but his face would show his disapproval, sterner and harder.

 

He _moved_ with the music. Like it couldn’t help but pour out of him. Luke always told Rey she was too tense and needed to flow more, showing her videos of Hilary Hahn and Sarah Chang. But Rey couldn’t ever feel the music like they did. Like Kylo Ren did. It was all very dramatic, she preferred a quiet passion.

 

Sometimes she could see it though, when she watched Kylo Ren play. She could see how important it was to have the music flowing through you like water.

 

And now he was bringing her a cello at a backyard luxury wedding in New Jersey.

 

The brunette girl Baz met him in the driveway, jumping up to kiss his cheek happily, before taking his garment bag from him.

 

Of course.

 

He stopped in front of her, assessing. She was pretty sure he didn’t recognize her. “You needed a cello?”

 

She looked down. Thank _god_ it wasn’t his Stradivarius cello that he used at Pops. Leave it to Kylo Ren to have multiple cellos.

 

“Er, yes,” she said. “Thank you.”

 

He laid down the case, bending swiftly to his knees and popping the locks. He looked up at her through a curtain of his hair and said, “Did you forget to bring yours?”

 

She didn’t hear him at first, staring down at the silky finish of the wood, a beautiful stain for a beautiful instrument. He lifted it by its neck, and handed her the cello, grabbing up the bow.

 

“Um, yes.” She took the neck, careful not to touch his fingers. “No, I mean.” She turned to her chair, sitting and situating herself. “I brought my violin. I’m… I’m a violinist.”

 

Just as she was about to put the spike into the grass, he dropped a rest at her feet. She looked up and he was scowling down at her.

 

“Do you play cello?”

 

“Yes.” She left it at that and started flipping through the music to the beginning, placing her fingers on the fingerboard and silently working through the fingering in her mind. She was _not_ about to test out these octaves while Kylo Ren stood two feet away, towering over her.

 

“That’s violin music.”

 

“Yes, I’m aware,” she hissed. “I’m a violinist, remember.”

 

“Then why aren’t you playing violin,” he said, like it was easy.

 

“Because _Gwen_ – whoever that is – wanted a cello.” She kept her eyes off him, wishing him elsewhere.

 

“Gwen is the bride.”

 

She looked up, against her wishes. His eyes were on her fingers and she immediately shifted to a better positioning.

 

“Oh.”

 

“Are you about to ruin this wedding?” he asked.

 

She narrowed her eyes at him.

 

“Rey’s really good,” Finn piped in, and Kylo Ren turned, like he was seeing him for the first time. “She can play anything. She’s like a child prodigy.”

 

“Finn, don’t—“ she tried.

 

“She’s been playing violin since she was eleven,” he continued, and Kylo Ren cut him off to glance back at Rey.

 

“Eleven?” he said, in a mocking tone. “How impressive.”

 

She pressed her lips together. True child prodigies start playing at three, so she knew he was in no way impressed.

 

“If you’re so concerned, why don’t _you_ play?” she said.

 

“I can’t. I’m in the wedding party,” he said simply.

 

She blinked up at him. So, he knew this Hux person and this Gwen person well then. Of course, he probably also lived in a mansion in Jersey. Probably a mansion in Manhattan. Wherever one could find one of those, Kylo Ren was in it.

 

“Ben!”

 

Mr. Hux stood on the veranda waving at him, rushing him inside.

 

Kylo Ren or Ben or whoever he was gave her one last haughty stare and then walked away on long legs, taking the stairs up to the main house three at a time.

 

Ugh, she _hated_ when people did even _two_ at a time. What kind of obnoxious giant would—

 

“Rey, what do you need to practice?”

 

She jumped, and turned to “Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring.” The bride’s processional song.

 

At 3:35 they finally began playing the from the beginning of the books. “Can’t Help Falling in Love,” “Ave Maria,” “A Thousand Years.” The usuals.

 

Either Gwen or Hux had interesting tastes though; a few Radiohead songs had snuck into the binder. Traditionally Rey would take the melody line and Finn would take accompaniment, but they focused in on each other, having quick conversations before songs. Sometimes Rey would get to sit on the bass line while Finn sight read the parts he wasn’t comfortable with. But when Rey turned the page to “Numb” by Linkin Park, she laughed and told Finn she had this.

 

She let her eyes drift, feeling the melody that she’d screamed to when she was five or six in her foster homes. She had more than a few fond memories with these songs.

 

She followed through the fingering, humming through a melody. She looked over at Finn and he smiled at her.

 

Finn and she had met in her last foster home when she was transferred six months before her eighteenth birthday. They’d moved out together to a studio apartment in Harlem, bonding over music and food. Finn taught piano and Rey played in subway stations until she started at NY Pops, finally seeing real money for the first time in her life.

 

Finn let the final tinkering notes play from Numb, and Rey looked up and found the chairs almost full. She checked her phone.

 

3:59PM.

 

She looked over at the doors to the house and found an anxious Hux nodding at her.

 

She and Finn switched their music to “Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring.” It was a very quick melody that Rey had perfected years ago on the violin. On the cello… she was having trouble visualizing it all.

 

“Rey, are you feeling good?” Finn asked. “Do you want to just take bass line?”

 

“No, no,” she said, eyes flying over the page. “I can do this. Just take it the tempo down 5 BPM.”

 

Hux nodded at them again.

 

Rey raised the bow, muscles in her arm already tiring without the proper stamina for the cello.

 

She met Finn’s eyes. They breathed. And began.

 

Rey kept her eyes glued to the page for the first eight measures. She slid through the page without breathing, finally taking a moment to glance back at Finn when he took solo on the next eight. She looked at the procession, seeing Hux link arms with a pretty woman, following Kylo Ren as he escorted the Baz girl down the aisle. She barely got a chance to note the charcoal grey tux on him before picking up the bow again and joining Finn.

 

She wasn’t pleased with the way she was playing. She knew she could do so much better with practice. And she tried not to dwell on the fact that she was playing on Kylo Ren’s spare cello. Or the fact that she would not have worn a skirt this short if she knew she would have a cello between her knees.

 

Kylo Ren’s cello.

 

No, no.

 

She looked at Finn, and he gave her an encouraging nod. She looked ahead in the music, remembering how she had the violin part memorized so she didn’t need her eyes on the binder.

 

Rey knew it was inside of her. She closed her eyes, transposing fingering arrangements, letting her ears turn off to just make sense of the notes in her brain and her fingers.

 

She opened her eyes, pulling the bow across the final chord.

 

The audience was standing, facing the latticework arch. The bride had made it down the aisle.

 

She looked at Finn as the minister told everyone to take their seats. He beamed at her, shaking his head, laughing.

 

She guessed that meant she pulled it off.

 

With shaking fingers, Rey turned the page in the binder to the ending processional, looking over the solo line and figuring what she’d have to do. It would be much easier than “Jesu.”

 

Once the ceremony was under way, she glanced back up, finding the tallest woman she’d ever seen in a white dress with a man who could be no more than 5’6” as her groom. She looked even taller with Hux and Kylo Ren standing next to her.

 

Next to her?

 

Rey realized that Gwen, the bride, had two men behind her, and the groom had two women. Rey smiled. That’s what she’d probably have to do one day, with Finn as her Man of Honor.

 

From where she and Finn were seated, she got to watch the bride’s side of the wedding party. Hux’s face was pinched. She supposed he might be crying.

 

Kylo Ren shifted on his feet, staring right at her.

 

She looked down at the cello, looking for anything he’d be displeased with. Dirt from the lawn, ladybugs crawling… fingerprints. Nothing. Keeping too careful an eye on his second favorite cello.

 

Possibly his fourth favorite. How was she to know.

 

She watched Gwen take Dopheld Mitaka to be her wedded husband. And she watched Kylo Ren’s eyes slip to her and Finn more than once.

 

She wasn’t going to _take off_ with the cello. _Chill_ Ren. Or Kylo. Ben, actually.

 

He looked at her again. She wondered if the photographs would show him looking off, distracted.

 

The minister pronounced them wife and husband, in that order, and Rey lifted the bow, turning her attention to “Bad Romance” by Lady Gaga.

 

The bow slid across, popping the little sounds that Gaga usually made – Ra ra ah ah ah-ah. Roma ah ah ah-ah.

 

She smiled at Finn as he slid a glissando down the keys to join her on the down beat.

 

The audience chuckled as they recognized the song. Dopheld and Gwen danced down the aisle. Hux and Kylo Ren decidedly did not dance. She and Finn played out the wedding party and then continued another verse and chorus until resolving into an ending.

 

“You’re pretty great at that,” Finn said, nodding to the cello.

 

Rey smiled, stroking the neck, feeling the smooth polish. Finn didn’t know anything about strings, so he wouldn’t know that the bowing was all wrong or that she had skipped notes in “Jesu.”

 

Finn brought over the cello case, and laid it open for her. She took one last glance at the beautiful cello before closing the case, and then searched the crowd to see if there was someone in charge she should leave it with.

 

A few ushers were taking guests to the reception area across the lawn, but without Hux, there was no management.

 

“Why don’t I find Hux and our money, and you figure out what to do with that.” Finn pointed to the cello case.

 

Rey wandered for a bit, carrying her violin in one hand and the cello in the other. She slipped inside the house, eyes glazing over as she took in the interior. She pressed herself between caterers and photographers, trying to maneuver her cases around.

 

The Baz girl bumped into her coming out of a small bathroom.

 

“What are you doing in here?” she hissed at Rey.

 

She blinked back at her, and stuttered, “Sorry, I’m just… I’m looking for Kylo – er, Ben. I have his cello.”

 

Baz frowned at her and said, “You can leave it upstairs in the men’s room. First bedroom on the left.”

 

Rey thanked her and started a search for the stairs.

 

Baz called out, “Next time try to remember to bring your instrument.” She spun and walked away before Rey could even think about biting back at her.

 

She huffed and twisted into a new room finding a circular staircase, spiraling widely to a second floor. She turned left at the top and poked her head into an empty bedroom, clothes and shoes and discarded belts thrown everywhere. Empty glasses of scotch mingled with cologne bottles.

 

Yep. Found the boys room.

 

Rey set down the cello in a safe corner, away from bottles or liquids of any kind. She pushed a curtain aside to look down on the reception, seeing wine glasses and hors d’oeuvres floating through the crowd. She smiled down. It was a nice wedding. Well-planned. Beautiful location, beautiful weather. She and Finn had played far worse.

 

She scanned the reception for a black head of hair, hating herself a bit for wondering what Kylo Ren thought of her cello playing.

 

“Your intonation is awful.”

 

She spun, finding the man himself taking up the doorway.

 

Rey blinked at him, wondering what she was supposed to do with that.

 

“Well, thanks for bringing your cello,” she said, choosing to ignore his insult.

 

He stared at her, gaze sliding over her.

 

“How long have you been playing?”

 

There was something tense in his body language. He didn’t lean in the doorway. No hands in his pockets. Instead he held both sides of the doorframe in both hands, leaning into the room like he’d just dropped in to tell her something.

 

“I started violin when I was eleven.”

 

“How long with cello,” he specified.

 

“I don’t… I don’t play really. I had a few lessons when I was fifteen, but I mainly play violin.” She swallowed, looking away from him.

 

“You weren’t looking at the sheet music,” he said.

 

“No,” she said, quietly, “I memorized it.”

 

His lips twitched, like he was going to ask her something else, but then nothing.

 

“Thanks, again, Kylo—“ Oh lord. “Ben. Thank you.”

 

His eyes swept over her again.

 

Well, fuck. Now he knew that _she_ knew who he was. Knew that maybe she’d downloaded his first track on iTunes with his strings group The Knights of Ren.

 

She looked down at a half-empty bottle of scotch, and pined for a drink herself at this point.

 

She lifted her violin case and moved to the doorway. The one he was still blocking. Good god, he was large.

 

He stepped aside once she was close enough, and she squeezed past him, brushing his shoulder.

 

The air felt different in the hallway. And she was just starting to stumble down the stairs, feeling him still watching her, when he said, “You need a teacher.”

 

She stopped, foot hovering. He stared down at her, lips moving again, like he was going to say more. Was it a fact? Or an offer?

 

“I have one. I’m a violinist.”

 

She swept down the stairs and out the front door before he could respond.


	2. That Strain Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so happy people are enjoying this fic so far! Thanks for reading and thanks for commenting!
> 
> So... This is not how an orchestra is run... just a disclaimer...

 

Rey wandered through the upstairs hallways of Carnegie Hall, pacing towards Luke’s office. He’d asked her to swing by with her instrument. He tried to make it all cool and nonchalant and “maybe we can grab tea afterwards,” but Rey knew contracts were expiring.

 

She was coming in for an audition.

 

Twenty-five minutes early, and she was reading the name plates on every door on the way to Luke’s, killing time so she wouldn’t gnaw her fingernails off in anticipation.

 

She didn’t know how to audition. She’d never needed to. She didn’t know how to pick a one minute solo that managed to show off her vibrato, bowing, intonation, finger co-ordination, and was also not the same piece the girl in front of her just brought in.

 

It didn’t help that Luke had never made her audition for anything in her life. She spent twenty minutes at home practicing in the mirror how to just say her name out loud while not looking constipated.

 

Rey rubbed at her temple and sat down on the small bench outside Luke’s office. She heard voices inside, and she hoped she wouldn’t have to sit here and listen to someone else’s audition. That would be torture. She usually hated being compared to others, or even comparing herself to more professional players.

 

Luke had taken her to see the New York Philharmonic when she was fifteen. He’d picked her up in a town car in Staten Island, and paid to have the car drive them all the way to Lincoln Center. She used her 14th Street money to pay for a dress at the mall, and had stumbled in little two-inch heels the whole night.

 

Nine different people asked Luke if she was his daughter.

 

Rey had counted.

 

He’d told them politely she was his strongest student.

 

And Rey hadn’t been able to decide which title she wanted more.

 

She got to listen to Beethoven’s Violin Concerto that night, with Hilary Hahn as the guest violinist. She hadn’t understood until that moment what it was all about. Why people would pay money to sit in a chamber hall to listen to old music when there were recordings of it. She’d watched the conductor for most of the evening, trying to figure out what it was he was telling them all with his body and his wand. Conducting magic.

 

When the First Chair violinist entered from the stage right door, and the entire Orchestra stood for her and the audience clapped, Rey turned to Luke and said, “Is that Hilary Hahn?”

 

“No, not yet. That’s their leader.”

 

“I thought the conductor was their leader.”

 

“He’s their director, and she’s their representative. He takes care of the room and sound. She takes care of them.”

 

Rey looked back to the small Asian woman with silky hair and warm cheeks.

 

Like a mother. She takes care of them like a mother.

 

Luke told her at intermission more about the First Chair: why it was called the Concertmaster, why she got her own entrance and bow, what she did during rehearsals, how much work she had to take home with her.

 

She split her focus during the second half, watching as the First Chair respectfully stood and clapped for the re-entrance of Hilary Hahn and respectfully watched as Hilary Hahn played the second and third movements and respectfully smiled and applauded awkwardly, bow in hand.

 

When they left, walking to the town car, Luke asked her why she was frowning.

 

“Why didn’t the Concert—“ she tried to remember—“Concertmaster play the solo? She’s the best, right? It was probably hard for her to let another violinist come in and play lead.”

 

“Hilary Hahn wasn’t playing lead, though,” Luke said thoughtfully. “She was playing solo. She was playing the guest star. Hilary Hahn will go on to other symphonies and other countries, but the Concertmaster will always be there, leading them.”

 

Rey frowned at the sidewalk, trying to understand. And Luke continued, “It’s like inviting a guest over for dinner. Maybe you spend all day cooking the food and cleaning the house, but once everyone’s seated at the dinner table, they chat with the guest and ask questions and hear stories. It becomes less about the dinner, but still there would be no reason to have a guest over in the first place if you hadn’t made the dinner.”

 

While Rey had never lived somewhere with a “dinner table,” she thought she understood the concept he was trying to communicate.

 

He pulled the car door open for her, and as she slid inside she grumbled, “If I spent all day making dinner for the New York Philharmonic, I would want them to talk about how good the food was all night.”

 

Luke laughed, and leaned into the car door. “And that’s why you would get your own entrance and your own bow.” He smiled and shut the door to get in on the other side, leaving Rey to ponder if she wouldn’t rather be a dinner guest for the rest of her life if the table was only going to thank her once or twice for making them dinner.

 

She heard Luke’s voice from inside his office. But no music. Maybe it wasn’t an audition day. Maybe it was just her.

 

 A sudden shouting. She listened to a man’s voice, growling and gruff. And a melody she knew as Luke. 

 

“— my whole life!” She caught a few words. “... don’t pretend—“

 

Rey sat silently, praying she wasn’t getting in the middle of something. She heard Luke’s voice again, but couldn’t make out the words. 

 

 _Crash_!

 

Rey jumped as something hit the other side of the wall she sat against, a picture frame falling inside. 

 

She hopped to her feet, and just as she wondered if she needed to call the police, the office door flew open and Kylo Ren stalked out, face snarling and hands pushing through his hair. 

 

He stopped, seeing Rey in the hall. His face softened and his eyes brightened, before snarling again and spinning to scream back at the doorway, “What the fuck is she doing here?”

 

Rey felt her breath coming quickly as Luke stepped out and said, “Hello, Rey,” like there wasn’t an issue at all. 

 

“You’ve got to be fucking joking,” Kylo Ren hissed. “You can’t replace me with an amateur—“

 

“Rey is here for a meeting, Ben,” Luke said softly. “A meeting which does not correlate to yours.”

 

“She has no technique,” Kylo Ren barreled on. “Her intonation is awful. Almost no vibrato. She holds the cello like a subway pole—“

 

“I’m aware,” Luke said, turning a grin on her. “That’s why I trained her in violin.”

 

A still silence, in stark contrast to the previous noise. And then Kylo Ren laughed. Rey felt it in her ribs. 

 

He turned his eyes on her and hissed, “Of course.” His gaze dragged over her, sliding around every curve of her legs and hips. Then he stepped in close, looking down at her, and she felt his breath on her forehead when he said, “Be careful with them. They can take it all away from you.”

 

He shot one last glare at Luke, and then swept down the hall, heavy boots clomping, and the air sizzling as he cut through it. 

 

Rey waited for the sound of the stairwell door clanking open before she turned back to Luke. She was surprised to find Leia behind him, almost hidden, with arms crossed and looking at a point in Luke’s office Rey couldn’t see. 

 

He smiled at her. “Rey.” Like she’d just arrived. “Let’s head down to the auditorium.” 

 

Rey nodded mutely, and smiled back at Leia when she grinned at her with a pink nose and wet eyes. 

 

Rey followed Luke and Leia down to Stern Auditorium in Carnegie Hall, the stage where the NY Pops performed every other month.

 

Once in the auditorium, she noticed an older gentleman sitting in the front row and a thin woman leaning against the stage. They were laughing together as old friends do. Or so Rey had observed about old friends. 

 

As they approached, the older man stood and turned to grin at them. Luke shook both their hands, and Leia kissed both of their cheeks. 

 

“Amilyn, Adriel. This is Rey Johnson.” He gestured to her, and Rey fumbled with the violin in her arms so she could shake their hands properly as Luke said, “Rey, this is Dr. Holdo and Dr. Ackbar. They’re on the Board of Directors for the Pops.”

 

Rey thought she might have squeezed Dr. Holdo’s hand a bit too tightly upon hearing that. “Pleasure to meet you both,” she managed to mumble. 

 

“Rey, don’t think of this as an audition,” Luke started, leading her up to the stage. “Dr. Holdo and Dr. Ackbar are old friends of ours and they’ve never heard you play before.”

 

“Right. And so I’m gonna stand on a stage a Carnegie Hall and play for a panel of judges,” Rey grumbled. “Nothing about that screams audition.”

 

Luke smiled, grabbing her a music stand while Rey opened her case. 

 

“Miss Johnson, how old are you, if you don’t mind me asking?” Dr. Holdo called from the front row. 

 

“Er, twenty.”

 

“She’ll be twenty-one next month,” Luke said, nodding to Dr. Holdo with some kind of secret smile. Rey never expected much out of her birthdays. She wasn’t even sure that was the real date. But something in Dr. Holdo and Dr. Ackbar’s eyes lit up at the knowledge. 

 

Dr. Holdo leaned into Leia and whispered something, tilting her head. Leia nodded, smiling brightly at Rey. 

 

“What do you want to play today, Rey?”

 

Rey turned to Luke with wide eyes. 

 

“I... Anything you’d like.” She eyed the music stand Luke set next to her, hoping he’d provide something. 

 

Luke grinned and said, “Why don’t we start with something you like. Something you love playing.”

 

Luke jogged down the steps and took a seat next to Leia. Rey ran her fingers over her bow, waiting for some inspiration to strike her. 

 

Something she loved to play. Something that made her feel good, feel invincible. 

 

She lifted the bow, and the Beethoven concerto from six years ago floated through her arms, into the wood. 

 

It started quick and grand, and Rey closed her eyes to concentrate on the melody. She’d played this with Luke for several years after seeing the NY Philharmonic, working the bowing and the vibrato until she could play it without missing a note in the allegro movement.

 

She wished she had the sheet music now. It would be so much simpler. 

 

But she opened her eyes, gaze resting on the edge of the stage, and imagined the page. The difficult fingering came next, and she quivered through the passage, imagining how Luke needed to turn the page for her. She’d asked why they had to put the page turn there. And he’d said, “It had to go somewhere.”

 

She felt like maybe she was playing for a long time. Most auditions lasted one minute. The allegro movement was almost half an hour long, so at a moment of pause, Rey lifted the bow from the strings, and looked to Luke to see if she should continue. 

 

He was beaming at her. They all were. Actually, Dr. Ackbar had his eyes closed. 

 

“Wow,” Dr. Holdo chuckled. “That was remarkable, Miss Johnson. Was that all without sheet music?” 

 

“Er, yes.”

 

Luke leaned into Dr. Ackbar’s ear to whisper something and the older man nodded, eyes still pressed closed. 

 

Leia whispered to Dr. Holdo, “...been playing only since she was eleven... foster care system...” Rey caught only a few words. “... found her in the subways. Maz had given her an old violin—“

 

“Bless Maz. I love her.”

 

“Luke began with her at fourteen—“

 

“So you’ve only been playing for six years?” Dr. Holdo called to her. 

 

Rey was so confused that they were finally addressing her that she had to take a moment to hear the question again. 

 

“Er, yes. Almost seven though—“

 

“Six years and she can do that?” Dr. Holdo turned to Leia again. 

 

Rey frowned a bit. She said seven—

 

Luke stood. “Rey, I’m going to give you a piece of music you’ve never seen before. Is that okay?”

 

“Um, sure.”

 

They’d done this plenty of times in lessons. She knew she could sight read. But as Luke laid out two pages on the music stand, she knew she’d never sight read for an audience before. 

 

“Just concentrate on the bowing,” he said softly. He dropped a pencil on the stand. “Take your time.”

 

Take your time, was the worst expression in the human language. Take your time, but everyone is watching. Take your time, but don’t take too much time. 

 

Rey picked up the pencil and made a few notes indicating the up-bow and down-bow for herself. She glanced over the phrases, noting the tempo markings, and lifted her instrument under her chin. 

 

The four people in the front row were silent.

 

She pulled, and devoured the music notes with her eyes, tripping over sixteenth notes, sliding over tied quarters and barely listened to the melody while simply sight-reading the page and her own markings. 

 

She finished, and looked up to Luke. 

 

"Play it again, now that you know it."

 

Rey nodded, and this time, she listened to the aggravated tune, letting her blood sync to the drawn out rhythms, tumbling over the staccatos and arpeggios. 

 

She came to the end, bow falling away from the violin, and just as she lifted her eyes to find Luke in the front smiling at her, a shadow in the corner of the balcony, 150 feet away, shifted in his chair. 

 

Oh god. 

 

Oh god oh god oh god. Kylo Ren had just watched her sight-read, possibly watched her play Beethoven. Poorly.

 

She stared at his figure, hunched over in a chair, elbows on his knees. She couldn’t see his expression from here, but she was sure he was scowling down at her, watching her audition for a position in next year’s orchestra. A place he was no longer welcome, she guessed from the limited conversation she overheard. 

 

He sat up, running his hands over his face, leaning back into the too-small chair and crossing his arms again as she realized Leia was speaking. 

 

“Rey, darling. Come sit with us down here.”

 

Rey stumbled like a newborn fawn down into the audience, ignoring the hulking figure in the balcony. 

 

Rey took a seat next to Leia as the older woman took her hand. 

 

“Rey, as the next season approaches, we’ve had to make some difficult choices,” Leia began. 

 

Fucking hell. She was being let go while Kylo Ren watched from the balcony. 

 

“I’m stepping down at the end of this season,” Leia said, “and moving into a supervisory position on the Board of Directors.”

 

Rey felt her heart dropping low, fighting against her lungs. Leia was one of the best parts of the NY Pops. As First Chair, she had been like a mother to all of the string section, teaching the bowing and leading in rehearsals. 

 

Leia had been the one to rally for Rey to move up to Third Chair - which really was too low on the totem pole to matter in the grand scheme of things, but all the same, Leia had always been in her corner when Luke had had other responsibilities to manage as Conductor. 

 

Without Leia, Rey would be lost. 

 

“With Leia stepping down, the First Chair will be open,” Luke said. 

 

Yes, Rey thought. And there will be a lot of reorganizing with that. She wouldn’t be guaranteed her spot in Third Chair, right behind First Chair, closest to the audience. Maybe they needed to move her back.

 

Which Rey wouldn’t mind. She didn’t really love being in the front.

 

Rey nodded at Luke, begging him to just tell her what they were thinking.

 

“Rey.” Luke took her other hand, smiling wide at her. “On behalf of the NY Pops, myself, and the Board of Directors, we’d like to offer you the position of Concertmaster. First Violin.”

 

Rey waited for the words to form in her ears. Waited for the phrases to glue together into something intelligible.

 

She’d just had the silly hope of not being so close to the front. It extinguished, and in its place, a thundering applause rose up, blinding her ears, eroding her sight. An entrance. A bow. Luke smiling at her from the Conductor’s platform, extending his hand to her like he did for Leia, presenting her to the world like a proud brother. A proud father—

 

“I’m sorry, what?” Rey whispered. Luke grew blurry in her eyes.

 

Dr. Holdo chuckled behind her. “Sweet thing.”

 

“First Chair, Rey,” Luke said again.

 

“That’s… that’s impossible. I’m not—I don’t—“ Rey couldn’t find the syllables. “I’ve only been with the Pops for three years. It’s—It has to go to someone else, doesn’t it? I’m… I’m only twenty-one!”

 

“Twenty,” Akbar corrected her, eyes closed, thinking.

 

Rey looked at him over Luke’s shoulder.

 

“Rey,” Leia said, pulling her around to face her. “I think you should know, in all transparency, that a twenty-year-old in First Chair would be excellent publicity for the Pops—“

 

“Oh, don’t…” Luke interrupted. “Don’t tell her that.” His face pinched and he glared at Leia.

 

“She’s not a child,” Leia snapped. “She can handle it.” Rey whipped back around to listen to Leia. “On top of you being one of the singularly most talented musicians I have ever encountered, Rey, the press and the subscribers would eat you up.”

 

Rey buzzed with the praise, and blanched at the prospect of attention.

 

“The Pops…” Dr. Holdo began, “is not having our best season. Financially.”

 

“She doesn’t need to hear all this,” Luke said, standing.

 

“She does,” Leia said, accepting no exceptions. She turned her attention back to Rey. “We think you are qualified. We think you are remarkable. We think, with my guidance, you can take over this Orchestra.” Leia squeezed her hand. “But we also know that the youngest First Violin in the history of the New York Pops – the history of New York orchestras, really – will bring in an audience.” Leia nodded at her. “I wanted that to be clear to you before you accept. It wouldn’t be fair if you didn’t know some of our motivations.”

 

“I… Thank you. I understand,” Rey hummed, focusing on the way Leia’s thumb stroked her hand, feeling her skin prick at being touched, being taken care of.

 

“You can take a few days to think about it,” Luke said.

 

“Well…” Dr. Holdo piped in, hesitant. “The sooner the better. We’d like to release the press release before the Anniversary Concert. When the subscriptions get renewed.”

 

That was in two weeks. And then it would be off season over the summer until the September concert.  

 

“I mean… I accept. I think you’re all crazy, but I accept.”

 

She thought maybe the smile Leia gave her, Luke’s hand on her shoulder, Dr. Holdo’s hands clapping together, and Dr. Ackbar’s sleepy nod would be worth the mess she was getting herself into.

 

When she retrieved her violin from the stage before heading off to get a celebratory dinner with Luke and Leia, she couldn’t help but notice the shadow in the balcony had vanished.

 

~*~

 

So… First Chair was going to be no cakewalk. Leia described her daily functions, the behind-the-scenes duties, gave her an outline of what a season looks like.

 

Luke also mentioned a pay increase, but Rey could hardly be bothered with that now.

 

Now, she was sitting at home on Finn’s laptop, researching past First Violinists, their ages, their backgrounds.

 

She was in trouble.

 

She did find some lovely old videos of Luke when he was promoted to First Chair thirty years ago. He’d stayed there for ten years before advancing to Conductor and putting Leia in.

 

Before that it had been Anakin Skywalker, which started her deep dive of the entire Skywalker family. His wife, Padmé, had been a wealthy investor in the arts, and upon discovering young Anakin Skywalker, the two of them had been primarily responsible for the creation of the New York Pops.

 

Rey Johnson would be the first person in First Chair whose last name was not Skywalker.

 

She drained her glass of wine.

 

Dr. Holdo was right. The publicity wrote itself. Now, she just needed to be good enough to earn her place.

 

Leia had mentioned over dinner that they had officially cut ties with Kylo Ren before her audition that day. He would not be joining next season with them, and Rey was silently grateful. If she had to work with him, lead the strings with him in the First Cello chair, it would have made things ten times more difficult.

 

“He’ll be fine,” Leia had said, sipping her brandy. “He has a whole career ahead of him with that silly little rock band.” She shook her head. “He wanted to cut back on his rehearsals anyway, to spend more time with the… Knights of the Round Table or whatever,” she mumbled into her glass.

 

“Knights of Ren,” Rey corrected. “They’re not quite rock actually. They have an entire album of Mozart and Bach but on electric instruments. It’s fascinating.” She sipped the glass of champagne they’d slipped her.

 

Leia’s eyes had turned a golden color as she looked into her glass. “I didn’t know that,” she whispered. “I’ll have to take a listen.”

 

Rey stopped the autoplay cycle she’d found herself stuck in on YouTube and with quick, guilty fingers, typed _Kylo Ren_ into the search bar.

 

The Knights of Ren had done one music video for one of their Nirvana covers. She spent the next fifteen minutes in the autoplay cycle for Kylo Ren’s live performances, watching his hair flip through each song in front of his four other musicians.

 

She recalled what Hux had called him. Ben.

 

She tried _Kylo Ren + Ben_ and watched as the word _Solo_ auto-filled in the search bar.

 

It wasn’t until the search list popped up that she realized that “Solo” was a last name, not a “cello solo.”

 

She tried _Ben Solo_ alone in the search bar.

 

A gangly teenager with long black hair filled every result. Playing a violin.

 

Rey gasped. She clicked the first one, and watched as Kylo Ren executed a flawless solo rendition of "Chaconne" by Vitali.

 

Oh god.

 

Fuck everything. He was a violinist. He was a violinist first and foremost.

 

She watched as Ben Solo, ages 10-21 played his way through the Tchaikovsky concerto. She watched as Ben Solo and Yo Yo Ma played a duet at the Chicago Symphony Orchestra. She watched as Ben Solo auditioned for Julliard.

 

And down at the bottom of the list, she caught sight of _Ben Organa_.

 

She blinked at the screen. A twenty-something Leia Organa was pictured in the thumbnail with a four-year-old boy with a black bowl cut.

 

She clicked, and watched as Leia led the child onstage, holding his hand to thunderous applause.

 

The boy beamed at the crowd and took a little bow, cracking everyone up.

 

And then he lifted his tiny little violin, and Rey watched as Leia played a violin duet with her son, Ben.

 

Rey had herself leaned so far into the screen by the end, she almost fell inside, her hands on her cheeks, eyes wide and dry.

 

Not only had Kylo Ren mastered the violin by the time he turned eighteen, then turned to the cello, then turned recording artist, but he was also a child prodigy with three different names.

 

And he was Leia’s son and Luke’s nephew.

 

She knew Leia had a son, but they never talked about him.

 

She knew Kylo Ren and Luke spent an inappropriate amount of time arguing when Kylo Ren sat in the First Cello chair. But she assumed they kept him around because he was excellent.

 

But Leia was retiring, and the Skywalker Chair was being passed down to an outsider instead of the Skywalker child prodigy, Ben Organa-Solo-Skywalker.

 

Rey hung her head in her hands, as the autoplay switched the video to a six-year-old Ben Organa playing at the White House for President Clinton.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! If anyone is interested, here is Hilary Hahn playing the Beethoven piece:  
> https://youtu.be/0Cg_0jepxow?t=26
> 
> And here is a handsome young man playing that Chaconne by Vitali:  
> https://youtu.be/zXDQ-QliMJI


	3. 'Tis Not So Sweet Now As It Was Before

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so incredibly happy that you're enjoying this story! I'm insanely proud to have something to contribute to this beautiful ship.

Rey shadowed Leia through every rehearsal leading up to the April Anniversary Concert. Word had spread among the orchestra even though the press release hadn’t come out yet. 

 

Rey... no longer had friends. She had colleagues. Who were subordinate to her. 

 

Leia and Luke let her lead a rehearsal in the week leading up to the concert, and one of the older women in the first violin section complained that she wasn’t _leading_ enough. Her elbow didn’t pull far enough away, her head didn’t move when she found the downbeat, her shoulders did so little. 

 

As First Violin, it was her job to conduct the string section as much as it was Luke’s. And as a conductor with an instrument to worry about, she had to communicate through her body since her hands could not. 

 

And according to Diane over there, she was not communicating with much other than her own ass. 

 

“Thank you for the suggestion, Diane,” Luke said in his friendly tone. “That’s something Rey can definitely work on.”

 

He turned a wink on her and she looked down at her knees. 

 

She thought she heard Diane growl three seats behind her. 

 

Leia assured her that she would be available to her during her first season as First Chair for any questions or bowing problems. 

 

But the stress of it all just made Rey turn in towards solo work, nothing of which would be helpful in her new duties as First Chair except for a lead violin solo here and there, but it still soothed her mind. 

 

Strangely, it was the “Chaconne”by Vitali that she kept coming back to. It wasn’t even supposed to be played solo, but a certain arrangement had stuck in her head. 

 

Once she’d memorized it, she would turn on YouTube and watch Ben Organa play it—no, Ben Solo at that point. 

 

She’d mute the volume, and play with him, eyes on his shoulders, his bowing, his fingering. She tried to follow his head, even taking down her hair to try a now-infamous-Kylo-Ren hair flip. 

 

She hurt her neck. 

 

It wasn’t natural. Not to her at least. To Ben Solo... it was artistry. 

 

She watched as he closed his eyes, lips tightening over the one singular place in the entire piece that wasn’t intoned perfectly. 

 

He had been 19 during this recording (according to an embarrassing amount of googling on her part). Two years younger than her. 

 

He’d started 8 years sooner than her. 

 

He’d mastered one instrument more than her — possibly two if an Instagram video of The Knights of Ren messing around with Kylo Ren on the drums indicated.

 

Rey sighed. 

 

She moved the cursor back to the beginning, and watched as the teenager smiled at the camera with slightly crooked teeth, pushed his hair out of his face, and mouthed the words she knew to be:

 

_Hi everybody. I’m Ben Solo, and this is Vitali’s “Chaconne.” Subscribe!_

 

~*~ 

 

They told her they’d announce her at the Anniversary Concert. Leia had suggested maybe purchasing a new dress for the occasion, and at the frightened look on Rey’s face, she’d laughed and called the car to take them to Barneys. 

 

Leia had forced her into a dress with enough length at the knees to sit comfortably during the concert, but with enough sparkle for Leia’s wild imagination. 

 

On the night of the concert, Rey warmed up onstage while the audience filed in, scratching at the glittery material of her new dress. Now that word had gotten out about her promotion, her friends in the trumpet section had stopped wandering to her side of the stage to chat. She sat by herself, focusing in.

 

When the lights dimmed, she waited for Leia Organa to enter the stage. The next time Rey played at Stern Auditorium, _she_ would be the one backstage, waiting.

 

Leia entered.  Rey listened to the thunder. 

 

Leia turned to the First Oboe and tuned them all. Once satisfied, she sat.

 

Luke entered and waved the audience, throwing his hands wide for the orchestra. The orchestra applauded for Luke. It wasn’t necessary, Rey had heard, but ever since she’d started, the orchestra would join the audience in welcoming Luke to the stage.

 

Luke mounted the podium, and Rey turned her eyes on the first piece. 

 

They played through, and Rey kept one eye on Leia, watching her elbow pull and her knee bounce when she felt the orchestra had gotten ahead. 

 

At the end of the song, Luke addressed the crowd, thanking everyone for attending the Anniversary Concert. He joked his way through a few memories of the year, and the subscribers chuckled. He introduced one of their guest singers for the night, a Broadway name Rey didn’t know. 

 

While she waited for the violins to begin, Rey caught sight of Dr. Holdo and Dr. Ackbar sitting in the first tier, hanging close to the stage. They sat with a few older stodgy people. Rey assumed more board members. 

 

She felt the time trickling away from the moment the concert started, counting down until Leia played her final notes and Rey would have to take her place. 

 

Just before Luke reintroduced the guest singers again to close out the performance with “Happy Days are Here Again/Get Happy,” he took a moment and said, “I have an announcement for you all tonight.”

 

Rey felt her palms sweat, bow slipping.

 

“You’ll be the first to know – our dedicated subscribers and patrons. It’s with a heavy heart that I announce that my sister Leia is about to play her last piece as First Violin for the New York Pops.”

 

Rey felt the gasping chatter like a knife through her stomach. 

 

Leia stood, and took a small bow. When the applause didn’t end, she sent an “Oh shut up,” over the din that had them all rolling. 

 

So beloved. The Skywalkers. 

 

“I’ll miss performing with her very much,” Luke said. “I’ll miss bossing her around even more.”

 

The twins smiled at each other while the crowd laughed. 

 

“But I want to introduce you to our new First Violinist.”

 

Rey swallowed, and tried to relax her face. 

 

“At twenty years old, she is the youngest violinist to take First Chair not only in New York Pops history, but also in every professional orchestra in the United States.”

 

These facts checked out. Rey had looked it up. She ignored the crowd mumbling and cooing. 

 

“It’s my pleasure to introduce you to my student and friend, Rey Johnson.”

 

A light hit her. Which was odd because they didn’t use anything other than the basic lighting design.

 

She smiled at the crowd and stood, holding her instrument awkwardly at her side. Luke’s hand extended to her, presenting her. She grinned at him. She gave the crowd a little shake of her hand.

 

And the sound of applause hit her like a wave, pulling her under before letting her take a breath. Luke continued.

 

“I found Rey playing in subways stations when she was thirteen-years-old with her violin case open for tips.”

 

Rey blinked. She hadn’t really thought that these details would be important. Or public. 

 

Flashing camera phones. Even though it wasn’t allowed. 

 

“I’ve been training her _pro bono_ for six years, and I cannot be prouder of the musician she’s become.”

 

It sounded like charity, the way Luke described it. He’d never made her feel like that, but now... it sounded like she was some poor orphan, dropped into the foster system with nothing but raw talent to offer anyone. 

 

She thought she’d outgrown that feeling, but here it was again. 

 

Luke beamed at her. She smiled back. 

 

“And because I knew she would refuse if I asked her in advance,” Luke said, “I was hoping to spring on her the opportunity to play something for you all.”

 

She felt the blood leave her face. Her legs were full of air, the oxygen in her lungs slowly draining into her thighs. Rey blinked at him as the crowd began applauding, bursting into her ears in spurts of noise in between the pounding in her head. 

 

She knew she looked like an idiot, standing there with her violin hanging from her fingertips, white as a ghost. 

 

Luke was applauding. Leia was applauding. Even fucking Diane was applauding, albeit out of obligation because the entirety of Carnegie Hall was making noise for her. 

 

Luke whispered something to Leia, out of the mic, and Leia smiled and nodded at her. 

 

Rey turned to the crowd. And mimicked Leia’s easy grace with a smile that tugged on her eyes. She placed the violin on her clavicle, and the crowd quieted. 

 

It wasn’t until she brought the bow up that she realized she had no idea what she was going to play. 

 

The Beethoven concerto popped into her head, but this was bigger than that. Bigger than something she’d been playing for 6 years. 

 

And suddenly the bow was against the strings and Vitali’s “Chaconne” poured through her. 

 

Not as perfect as Ben Solo’s videos. But the bow synced with her thundering heart and her fingers flew over the neck of the violin with a dexterity she’d been attempting to achieve. 

 

Her nerves had set the tempo a few beats too fast. She tried to breathe into the held notes to get a sense of the pace back. 

 

The chaconne was ten minutes long. She wasn’t about to play for ten minutes, but she had no idea where to stop. She played through the end of the insanely tricky _leggiero_ section, and dragged the bow across the violin one final time, ending it. She couldn’t help but look to Luke first as she opened her eyes. 

 

She caught the moment before he set his features into a proud grin. His lips had turned down, eyes stuck on her fingers. And then it was gone.

 

She looked to Leia, slower to react. Still staring at Rey with a haunted expression, like trying to place a drifting scent from your childhood. 

 

And like running into a brick wall, the sound returned to the room, and Rey almost stumbled backwards at the push of it. She looked to the audience, catching Dr. Holdo and Dr. Ackbar standing in their seats. 

 

They all were. 

 

Carnegie Hall on their feet for her. 

 

No one told her applause was something you felt. And when it was thundering, it was only a buzzing. Like your ears protect you from the sweet pain of it. 

 

Rey took a little bow. 

 

And Luke brought back on the guest singers. 

 

~*~

 

Rey glared at Luke playfully when they exited to the dressing rooms. He ruffled her perfectly put together hair and kissed her forehead. All traces of the confusion, or disappointment, or whatever it had been onstage, gone. 

 

She spent a few minutes re-doing her hair before tucking her instrument into a locker, grabbing her clutch and stumbling down the hall with the rest of the orchestra. 

 

The New York Pops knew how to throw an after party. 

 

The Plaza Hotel opened their doors and closed their downstairs bars and food for the Pops every spring after their Anniversary Concert. It was only a few blocks away, and the April wind felt amazing on her skin. 

 

Diane walked with her. Which Rey found as odd. 

 

They chatted about their plans for the months off during the summer. Diane and her husband were going to China. 

 

Rey was staying here. Leaching all the knowledge and expertise from Leia Organa that she could. 

 

Finn and she might see a movie in there somewhere, but really, until rehearsals started in August, that was it. 

 

“My son will be home while we’re gone though. Don’t know what he’ll do with himself!” Diane chatted cheerfully. “He’s about your age.”

 

Oh.

 

Alright. 

 

“That’s nice,” Rey tried. “What’s he studying?”

 

“He’s an actor.”

 

Oh, great. 

 

Rey was held captive by Diane and her matchmaking subtleties for the next two blocks. 

 

It’s not that Rey didn’t date. She just didn’t date. 

 

There were a few boys in foster care with her, but she’d felt very gross about it when she’d had to introduce them as her foster brother. 

 

Before she could even apply for colleges, Luke had offered her a position at the Pops, so she hadn’t got to meet anyone like how they do in all the stories: in the quad; in the library; he was my T.A.

 

She’d thought there might have been something there with Finn, but he’d introduced Rey to his boyfriend before she could really figure it out for herself. 

 

Speaking of Finn, she was hoping he could save her from Diane at the party. She told him to meet her there with Poe, and she prayed one of them could cover as her gentleman caller. 

 

They were standing by the bar, leaning in close to each other. She extracted herself from Diane and arrived at their sides to a chorus of “Congratulations!” and “That was awesome!”

 

“You got to play a solo!” Poe jostled her shoulder. “That’s awesome!”

 

“Yeah, it was unexpected.” She took a champagne glass from Finn.

 

“You were great, Rey,” Finn assured her.

 

“The way you just played it from memory…” Poe shook his head at her. “Very cool.”

 

Poe was one of the sweetest, most fun people she knew. He knew next to nothing about orchestral music though.

 

“How many times did you fall asleep?” Rey asked over her glass.

 

“Only twice tonight,” he answered with an honest grin. “But not while you played! Promise!”

 

A board member pulled Rey away after that, taking her arm and introducing her to a few people from the New York Times. Rey was surprised how many subscribers and donors went out of their way to shake her hand and congratulate her. 

 

She had to answer all the usual questions over and over again, almost forgetting her own name and age in the process. 

 

A photographer floated, capturing her and Finn and Poe several times before ushering her to stand near Luke and Leia. After every single arrangement of three people one could imagine, Luke left to shake hands with more donors and Leia excused herself to powder her nose. 

 

Rey wandered back to the bar, having lost track of Finn and Poe somehow, and based on previous experience, that usually meant she wasn’t supposed to find them.

 

The bartender asked her for her order, and Rey mumbled something about champagne, not knowing much about what to order at a bar. She tried to pay, but he informed her that it was an open bar for the first hour. Then he pushed the tip jaw toward her in an impressive display of subtlety. 

 

She had just finished dropping two dollar bills into the glass when she felt someone at her shoulder. 

 

“You’re too stiff.”

 

She sipped at her glass and felt it all go down the wrong way when Kylo Ren’s hulking figure appeared next to her. 

 

Or was it Ben Solo. Or Ben Organa. 

 

She cleared her throat, patted her lips, and said, “I’m sorry?”

 

“You’re stiff,” he repeated. “You lack natural grace.”

 

She blinked at him as his eyes flickered over her face like a scan, memorizing and taking notes. 

 

He was there. He watched her play tonight. He watched her play his “Chaconne.”

 

“Okay,” she replied, feeling her face heat with embarrassment.

 

Too stiff.

 

That, she already knew. But there was still that element to him that made it feel like he was complimenting her with the wrong words. 

 

She looked down into her glass, wondering if she should just turn and go. If he was done with her. 

 

“It was an interesting arrangement. Where did you find it?”

 

Her throat went dry, and she watched his eyes dance. “Online, I think.”

 

Well, it wasn’t a lie.

 

His lips twitched. Not a smile, just... an expression. And he poured his scotch down his throat in a quick toss. 

 

He signaled for another, and faced the bar. “You were too quick.”

 

She eyed his strong nose in his profile. Thick lips. “I know.”

 

She thought she should make up some excuse for it, say she was nervous and unrehearsed. But he knew all of that. Her eyes caught on his forearms as he took the drink from the bartender, sleeves rolled to his elbows. She should probably say goodbye and thanks for the insults. 

 

His body turned back to her, and she tore her eyes from his arms and up to his face. His eyes... they cut through her, digging under her skin. 

 

“Six years?” he asked. 

 

A few seconds pause while she let the words create meaning in her head. 

 

“Yes,” she whispered. “Er, but I started when I was eleven.”

 

She felt like telling him about Maz and how her eyes had widened when she played. About Luke coming to the store just to see her. About how quickly she’d flown through the children’s lesson books. 

 

But bragging to Ben Organa-Solo about playing the violin was like bragging to Jesus Christ about walking in waves on a beach.

 

His eyes flit over her face, down to her shoulders and back. “Almost ten years and you still play like you’re afraid of the music.”

 

She looked away, down into her bubbles. 

 

Afraid of the music. 

 

“Well,” she said, clearing her throat. “Thank you for the unsolicited constructive criticism.” She sent ice through her eyes into his. “Now, if you don’t mind, I need to get back to the party for the organization I actually have a contract with.”

 

He smiled at her. Something low and catlike. 

 

She turned on her heel —wobbling— and spun away from him. 

 

“You still need a teacher,” he called out. 

 

She almost just flipped him the bird, but instead she turned and shot out, “I have a teacher.” She planted one hand on her waist. 

 

His grin faded, replaced with a devastating glint in his eyes. His large fingers circled the rim of his glass. 

 

“You need a better teacher.”

 

Rey swallowed. The implication was clear. He was no longer talking about a hypothetical person who could help her with her cello intonation or the way the music flowed through her. 

 

It was an offer. 

 

She thought of the teenager auditioning for Julliard with such dexterity in his fingers and a hum through his body. The cellist who commanded a stage as if he were a lead guitarist. 

 

She shook her thoughts loose. 

 

“Luke _is_ the best.” She stepped back toward him. “He found me when I needed someone. He believed in me when the rest of the world couldn’t be bothered to think twice about me. He’s the entire reason I’m alive right now.”

 

She watched as his eyes narrowed, and she continued, “He’s an incredible musician. He knows the New York concert scene. And he’s just given me the world. I can’t imagine someone ‘better.’”

 

She took a deep breath, feeling quite confident that she’d said her piece. 

 

His lips twisted into a knowing smile and his eyes glinted. He stepped closer to her. “Are you fucking him?” 

 

Rey felt it like a slap. She blinked, and reeled back from him. She would ask him to repeat himself but she knew she understood him. 

 

“You’re disgusting,” she hissed. She twisted and marched away - anywhere. 

 

“It’s an honest question,” she heard rumbled behind her, suggesting that he was following. 

 

“So, the only reason I would been given First Chair is if I’m sleeping with the director?” Her champagne sloshed and she choose the route to the bathrooms, hoping to lose him there. 

 

“Oh, no, it’s very clear why you were given First Chair.”

 

She listened for a hint of sarcasm or criticism and couldn’t place it without looking at his face. Which she would _not_. 

 

“I’ve just never heard someone speak of Luke Skywalker so blindly before,” he said. 

 

She rounded the corner to the bathrooms and shot over her shoulder, “Yes, well, those _fired_ from employment can’t really be the ones to judge, can they?”

 

“Releasing my contract was the least of it.”

 

She pushed the women’s door open, expecting him to grab her arm or say something to keep her. She marched to the sinks without incident. 

 

The mirror over the taps revealed her flushed face and neck, hair falling out of its styling. And Kylo Ren just paces behind her, following her into the women’s restroom. 

 

“Hey!” She spun, bracing herself on the porcelain. 

 

“You can’t trust him to keep any promises he makes today. It all disappears tomorrow,” he said, unbothered by their change of location. 

 

“You are not an innocent victim here, _Ben_ or whatever your name is.” His eyes heated. She set her glass on the sink so she could cross her arms. “I was there the day you threw your chair in rehearsal. Anyone else would have been fired on the spot.”

 

His brow twitched, and his eyes swept over her, like seeing her for the first time. 

 

She knew it. He had no idea who she was. That they had played together for two seasons. 

 

“I was there for every temper tantrum, every insult to Luke’s conducting, every quip at your _mother_ ,” she said. His eyes narrowed. “I’ve been watching you, _Kylo Ren_. You’re no angel here.”

 

His eyes slid over her face, down to her blushing neck. He moved closer, and she had to tilt her head back. 

 

“You’ve been watching me?” he whispered, the hint of a smirk in the corner of his mouth. She swallowed. His eyes narrowed on her, dissecting her again, trying to figure her out. “How long have you been playing for the Pops?”

 

“Two years,” she said, voice soft in the space between them.

 

His lips twitched. “Even more to my point,” he puffed across her forehead. “He’s been keeping you hidden. Ordinary. When you’re anything but.”

 

He lifted his eyes, and Rey’s vision spotted at the edges until it was only him, closing in. She felt her breath slide between them, thick and humid.

 

The heat of his chest soothed her skin, and the smell of him this close… Like slipping into a hot bath. 

 

Like music. The way it’s supposed to feel. 

 

Eyes slipping to her lips, he lifted his hand and just before he could place it somewhere, a toilet flushed from the far stall. 

 

She jumped, backside slamming against the sink. He straightened, taking a small step away, and glared at the cute Asian girl exiting the stall. 

 

“Sorry,” she said. “I just... really wanted to get outta there before you guys boned.”

 

Rey’s eyes widened, and she opened her mouth to argue it. 

 

“I’ll just... umm...” The girl approached the sink furthest from them, fussing with the taps for a moment before saying, “Ya know what, I have hand sanitizer. Bye.”

 

She scurried out of the bathroom, and Rey slid out from the sink and followed her out, leaving Kylo- _Ben_ -whoever and his insanely broad shoulders behind. 


	4. Give Me Excess of It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you smell smoke? :)
> 
> Thanks to LadyKenz347 for the lovely photo! And thanks to Mh Calamas for feeding my Reylo obsession these past few weeks.

 

It was a slow summer, filled with days sunbathing in Central Park with Finn and Poe, high tea with Leia once a week, and lessons with Luke that turned into movie marathons. Each day felt like a clock ticking until their first rehearsal in August. 

 

Summer for Kylo Ren though. 

 

From what Rey could tell, it was anything but slow. 

 

The Knights of Ren had an East Coast tour, spanning twenty cities and playing anywhere from music halls to dance clubs. They had each stop catered to their audience, playing their classical music at the Boston Symphony Hall and playing their eccentric covers at a popular club in Orlando Rey had never heard of.

 

They had an excellent publicist. Or agent. Or whoever was responsible for booking them and keeping the social media accounts active. Pictures and videos of them in rehearsal, at the beach, in the club.

 

Kylo Ren was never on the beach or at the club. But she did notice that the girl Baz was on tour with them, popping up in videos and sticking her tongue out in pictures.

 

Rey followed the Knights of Ren account on Instagram _before_ she started running into Kylo Ren, thank you very much. The "follow" button remained untapped on his personal account. 

 

It wasn't updated as often anyway.

 

Not that she...

 

It's just that she refused to be his 15,842nd follower. 

 

Oops. 15,849th. He'd gained seven since she last checked.

 

Seven followers in four minutes? What the hell kind of—

 

Never mind. 

 

Rey put her phone down and concentrated again on the piece she was bowing for their first day of rehearsal on Monday. Leia said she'd look it over at tea today. She usually looked forward to the first day, whether it was school, rehearsals, spring training. But her nerves were taking over. It was only Thursday.

 

A popular orchestra magazine — she hadn’t known those existed — had contacted her about a featured interview for their September edition. Her interview was this Monday, just before their first rehearsal. In preparation, she found the August edition to flip through, trying to figure out what exactly they would ask her about. 

 

Of course, who was featured in the August edition, but Kylo Ren. When the salesgirl slid the magazine over to her, she froze at seeing his uncovered arms bowing his red electric cello on the cover. 

 

“He’s hot, huh?”

 

She looked up and the salesgirl winked at her. 

 

“He’s... an asshole, actually.”

 

“Oh yeah?” The girl shrugged. “Still hot though.”

 

Rey opened her wallet, and when it seemed the salesgirl was still waiting for a response she added, “I guess so.”

 

She went to a coffee shop and flipped open to the article. More pictures of Kylo Ren and his Stradivarius, Kylo Ren and the Knights of Ren, Kylo Ren in the recording studio. 

 

No mention of Ben Solo. Or Ben Organa. Or violins. 

 

For a magazine targeted to classical musicians and instrumentalists, it seemed like quite a missed opportunity. Possibly a purposeful omission. 

 

The YouTube video of Ben Solo playing the Chaconne had been removed two days after Rey had played it at the Anniversary Concert. It had become harder and harder to find information or videos of Ben Solo or Ben Organa. 

 

Kylo Ren wanted him erased. 

 

It wasn’t until her third read of the Kylo Ren article that she began paying attention to the questions asked, instead of the answers. 

 

She arrived at tea with Leia a bit late, and found Luke there with her. It wasn’t abnormal for Luke to join them, but usually Leia announced it. And usually he smiled at her. 

 

“Rey,” he greeted her, standing and pulling her chair while she kissed Leia’s cheek. “Sorry for crashing.”

 

“That’s alright.” She sat and pulled her napkin onto her lap like Leia had taught her. “Is everything... Anything wrong?”

 

She had to wait for Luke’s answer as the server came over to offer sandwiches and tarts. Rey was suddenly not very hungry. 

 

Luke waited until the server disappeared before turning back to Rey. “There’s a few things we need to discuss.”

 

Rey sipped her tea, letting it burn her tongue. 

 

“One of our grants didn’t pull through,” Leia said. Her lips twitched into a frown, and she looked out over the rest of the tables. “My first year on the board and we’re already being run into the ground.”

 

Rey felt her fingers tremble. 

 

“No, don’t—“ Luke shook his head. “It’s not as bad as all that,” he said to Rey. 

 

“Just about,” Leia said into her teacup. 

 

“It just means we need to do a bit of reworking to the season. More ticket sales, maybe another specialty concert if the Hall will find space for us.” He turned his eyes on Rey. “And we might have to make some changes.”

 

Rey thought of the sheet music in her bag, the hours of work she put into marking it up. She thought of the interview she had on Monday.  

 

_Be careful with them. They can take it all away from you._

 

“That’s... No, I understand.” She nodded at the white table cloth, wondering who she could call at the magazine to let them know...

 

She’d paid to restring her violin with the extra money her raise had brought in. She’d have to tell Finn that they couldn’t afford to move out of Harlem just yet. 

 

“Oh, sweetheart, no,” Leia said, grabbing her hand. “You’re not going anywhere. You’ve brought the Pops more good press than anything in the last ten years.”

 

She felt the tightness in her chest unwind. 

 

“No, Rey. The one thing we’re sure of is you.” Luke smiled at her. “But there will be several things... still in flux.”

 

She nodded, and asked, “How important was this grant?”

 

Leia took a deep breath, and Luke said, “Important.”

 

“It’s about half of our annual revenue,” Leia signed. 

 

“Half?!” Rey choked. 

 

“Don’t tell her that—“

 

“She asked. She’s not a child,” Leia grumbled. 

 

“Half is... half is bad, right?” Rey looked between them. “How do we get back half?”

 

“Let us worry about that,” Leia said. “You just focus on the rehearsals and that interview. Monday, isn’t it?” Rey nodded, trying to stir milk into her tea with shaking fingers. “We’re going to need as much publicity as we can get. I’m in contact with my friend at the _Times_. We’re hoping they can squeeze you in somewhere.”

 

Rey managed to burn her tongue again. “The _New York_ _Times_? Seriously?”

 

“Just a small blurb, maybe the week of the September concert.” Leia crumbled a scone and popped it between her lips. She only ate when she was anxious: before concerts, at parties, when she was overwhelmed.

 

When Leia snacked, Rey knew it was really bad. 

 

The Skywalker twins looked over her bowing marks for the first rehearsal, chatted with her about the interview, and paid for lunch, despite Rey’s pleading. 

 

Rey spent the rest of the day walking, trying to piece together the idea of the NY Pops losing half of their funding. If she thought they would accept, Rey would offer back her raise. 

 

She wandered through the East Side, taking in the neighborhood she had always wanted to live in. Leia had a place on the West Side, while Luke preferred his studio in Brooklyn. She and Finn would put on their fanciest clothes and walk through the Upper East Side, talking in loud voices about all the celebrities they’d dated and asking each other if they’d seen Chelsea at that party? Wasn’t she just _trashed?_

 

One time, Finn got a dog-sitting gig, and they took their adopted bichon-poodle mix through the neighborhood, changing their narrative to a couple who needed to socialize young Waffles more with the neighbor’s pug. 

 

There was a taqueria on Park Avenue that had some of best tacos in the city, located in the UES but with prices of the LES. A perfect place for people who didn’t want to break the bank while pretending to... have a bank. 

 

She popped in to grab a few tacos to take over to Central Park, planning to watch the Broadway League play their softball matches before heading back uptown. 

 

“Two al pastor, please,” she chirped to the cashier, pulling out her debit card.

 

“Sorry, sweetheart,” the older lady said, “we switched to cash only last month.”

 

Rey blinked at her. “Oh. Really?” Had it really been more than a month since she and Finn had been back? 

 

“There’s an ATM next door.”

 

Rey wavered. A $4 ATM fee for $9 tacos. If only it were next month. She’d get her first paycheck as First Chair at the end of August. Not that she could really count on a paycheck at this point. 

 

“Okay, I’ll, um...”

 

A crisp twenty dollar bill appeared on the counter. And Rey followed it up to the long, calloused fingers that produced it and the forearm that stretched out from behind her. She craned her neck to find a grey t-shirt pulled tight over a familiar set of shoulders...

 

She stood, helpless, as Kylo Ren paid for her tacos and collected the change from the smirking owner. 

 

Her tongue was dry as she watched him toss a dollar bill into the tip jar before pocketing the rest. 

 

Thank you. 

 

“Thank you” was the correct thing to say, wasn’t it? Or I’ll get you next time—

 

No, no. No “next time.” 

 

“Why are you here?” 

 

That. _That_ was what she chose to say. 

 

He lifted a dark brow at her and said, “I wanted tacos?”

 

"You're supposed to be"— _in Tampa tonight, Atlanta tomorrow_ —“on tour or something, right?" 

 

He handed her the ticket with her order number on it when the older woman waved it at her for the third time. Her fingers gripped it. 

 

"We got an offer for a gig in the city, so we cancelled our Tampa concert." 

 

He looked down at her. Standing too close. She could feel the warmth of his arm. When a customer tried to move up to the counter, Rey jumped. 

 

“Thank you for... You didn’t have to. I’ll pay you back... somehow.”

 

She took the opportunity to move over to the pick-up counter. 

 

He followed, and she noticed his own order ticket in his hand.

 

"Do you live around here?" he asked, his eyes tracking her. 

 

She almost laughed. "Uh, no. No, I live uptown." She doubted he'd ever been north of 72nd Street. "I just..." _like to walk around here like I have money – like to people watch and dog watch – like to call myself Kourtney and wear floppy hats—_ "... wanted tacos," she ended up saying, echoing him.

 

He nodded at her, his eyes saying more than his mouth— _don't stare at his mouth_ —almost like he heard the things she didn't say. His fingers played with the corner of his receipt.

 

She had a strange urge to tell him that she'd just had tea with his mother and uncle, but had a feeling that wouldn't go over very well.

 

"What are you working on?” he asked, eyes downcast on his scrap of paper that read 492. 

 

Rey swallowed. “What are you working on” was one of those expressions artists used with each other. Something that implied no end goal, just a desire to create and improve. 

 

She’d heard people use it before, but she’d never been directly asked what she was working on. 

 

“Nothing. Um, I mean, the Pops starts back up on Monday, so there’s that...” 

 

She glanced at the cook, begging him to work faster. 

 

“Do you feel ready?” he asked, eyes flipping up to her. A small smile curved his lips when he asked, “Have all your markings done?”

 

His eyes warmed when he smiled. Much more approachable. Not at all the kind of person who would throw a chair. 

 

A question was asked—

 

“Yep.” She grinned and patted her tote bag. “Just finished.”

 

His eyes locked on her bag, and for some stupid reason, she dragged the binder out of the bag, flipping it open. Like he wouldn’t believe her, so she felt the need to show him. 

 

His head tilted at the first pages, trying to read it upside-down. He looked up at her, asking silently. Rey turned the binder around and extended her work towards him, like a third grader with an apple. 

 

His fingers slipped through the pages, dragging over the staves and pausing on the rests. She watched him running through the music. Some new arrangement of “Wake Me Up When September Ends” by Green Day. She felt his breath syncing with the bow markings, inhaling on the ups, exhaling the downs. 

 

He turned a page and paused, blinking down at a place she had erased an up and replaced it a measure later. The ghost of that decision still on the pages in lead smudges. 

 

“What made you second guess yourself?” he mumbled lowly, flipping back to the previous page and tracking the full progression again. 

 

Leia had suggested it just a few hours ago. She recited back to him Leia’s reasoning. 

 

“It supports the next phrase better. It’s much easier for the full group to play the _allegro_.”

 

His eyes glanced at her before returning to the page. “My mother has already looked at this.”

 

Her breath caught, remembering how Leia had told her that it was up to her, but _she_ would have done it like this. 

 

“It’s... yes. We met this morning.” Rey shifted her bag on her shoulder. “She mentioned that most violinists appreciate a breath before an _allegro_ —“

 

He chuckled, eyes still on the page. “Most violinists maybe. But the New York Pops is supposed to employ violinists of high quality, right?” He scoffed. “Can’t get 16 well-trained musicians to all swing their bows at the same time?”

 

She bit back a grin, and looked down at her receipt. 493.

 

He closed her binder and handed it back to her. She fumbled it into her tote bag and asked, “When is the gig?”

 

He stared at her for a moment before replying, “Saturday, but we’re here early for rehearsals.”

 

She nodded. “That sounds big. Very exciting.” She shifted her bag on her shoulder. “What’s… where is it?”

 

“492 and 493!” She jumped as the cook called out and tossed both of their bags on the pick-up counter. Kylo Ren reached out and grabbed both of them.

 

She reached for her bag, about to thank him again and get the fuck outta there, but he asked, “Have you ever played electric?”

 

She looked up at him, and his eyes were down, staring at their food bags, or the floor or somewhere that wasn’t her face. She only noticed because he hadn’t looked away from her since the moment he paid for her tacos.

 

His lips pressed together, almost like he was biting back something.

 

“No. No, I’ve never had the chance.”

 

His eyes turned up to her, dark and insistent. “Would you like to?”

 

~*~ 

 

They walked ten blocks to his apartment. He held her tacos for her.

 

Rey felt like there was a battle waging in her stomach. She was no longer hungry at all, just… stupid.

 

They didn’t talk. He didn’t look at her as they walked.

 

Surprisingly he lived on 84th and Park. So… she clearly was wrong about him not going north of 72nd.

 

Not that any of that mattered now, because she was getting in an elevator with Kylo Ren, heading up to the 8th floor. The doors closed and she looked at their reflections in the steel.

 

Christ, she looked like an idiot. In leggings and converse, with a nice top. Why didn’t she wear a dress to tea today? She usually did. Her hair was tossed up.

 

The elevator smelled like tacos.

 

He stood next to her in his dark jeans and grey t-shirt. So tall in the blurred reflection.

 

“This is a nice building,” she squeaked.

 

He nodded. “I moved in last year.”

 

Her head did a strange nod-nod-nod-nod-nod thing, like once wasn’t enough.

 

The doors opened and his hand shot out to hold them, so she could walk out first. Which was dumb because she didn’t know where she was going. He led her to the left and pulled his keys, jingling in the silent hallway.

 

Her throat was dry when the lock clicked, and he held the door open for her again.

 

She had no clue what she just signed up for. She literally just wanted to play an electric violin. Maybe his electric cello that he toured with was there.

 

But mainly, she wanted to spend more time with him if he wanted to spend more time with her.

 

She walked into the apartment. The kitchen to the right, with modern appliances and dark countertops. The living area straight ahead with leather couches and the largest television Rey had ever seen mounted on the wall.

 

A bag crinkled behind her, and she turned to see him place the taco bags on the kitchen counter, tossing down his keys.

 

He looked at her quickly before saying, “This way,” and leading her down a small hall. One door was half closed, and she could make out the edge of a large bed through the cracked door. She shook her head and he led her into the second room.

 

Which was just a music studio.

 

Rey took a silent gasp, as the lights flipped on and she saw instruments hanging from the walls, sound-proofing foam lining the sides of the room, and a huge desk with screens and microphones in the corner.

 

“Is this where you record for Knights of Ren?” she asked, turning over her shoulder to see him still in the doorway.

 

“No, we go to a studio for that. This is just…” He ran a hand through his hair. “My own.”

 

She nodded, biting back the rest of her questions.

 

The Stradivarius sat in the corner of the room, next to the window. Rey gravitated like a moon toward the cello, not daring to run her fingers over the neck like she wanted to. She eyed the walls. A solitary violin amongst a sea of cellos. It was an electric.

 

She was about to ask for him to take it down, when her eye caught on the cello he played in most Knights of Ren videos and concerts. The one he had on the cover of the orchestra magazine. An electric cello that was basically a stick with strings. An angry red color with black markings that he held between his legs while sweating and tossing his hair around.

 

Now, Rey’s fingers did reach out, stroking the side, fingering the strings to feel their resistance.

 

She felt him come to stand beside her, and she dropped her hand, blushing. “Sorry.”

 

“Do you want to play her?”

 

She turned her head to him, and he looked down at her.

 

“’Her?’” she chuckled. “Your electric cello is a female?” She lifted a brow at him.

 

He looked away, a small blush rising on his pale skin. “Ruby,” he said quietly, taking the cello off the wall and grabbing the bow. “You don’t name your instruments?”

 

Instrument. Singular.

 

“I… No.”

 

He gave her a skeptical look.

 

“I guess,” she stumbled, rolling her eyes. “I guess I used to call my violin ‘Squeaky.’ But…” She laughed, looking down at the floor. She heard a rumble from his chest that could have been a laugh. “But I don’t… you know”—she gestured to the room—“have an entire room full of girlfriends.”

 

He stuttered a laugh, and she turned to look at him. His face was younger when he laughed. He carried the electric cello – “Ruby” – to the center of the room, bringing a chair over. “Room full of girlfriends,” he muttered, smiling. He looked up and pointed at the violin. “That one’s Victor.”

 

She grinned, and said, “So, you don’t discriminate?”

 

He started uncoiling a cord, eyes focused on his hands. “Well, Victor’s not allowed between my legs.”

 

Her smile broke into a laugh. She tried to take it back, breathing air back in, but her grin couldn’t be erased.

 

He plugged in the cello, flipped a few switched on the amps, and gestured for her to come sit. 

 

She moved to him on wobbly knees, sitting on the very edge of the seat. He handed her the bow and their fingers brushed. 

 

She dragged it across the strings and the speakers sang. She smiled, interested how she could make the music here, with her hands and fingers and send it somewhere else. 

 

She played a scale, feeling the floor vibrate under her. Pulling the bow across the thin instrument, she ran through the beginning of Bach’s Cello Suites. She laughed as she missed a few notes, listening to the amp pick up every mistake. 

 

She looked up at him about to apologize for butchering Bach in his music shrine, and found his eyes watching her fingers, still standing just to her left. She needed to tilt her head to see him, and also put all her focus into not looking at his eye-level crotch. 

 

“Ruby is wonderful,” she settled on, looking back at the instrument. “Is she the one you play on tour?” She asked innocently, as if she already didn’t know. 

 

She looked up at him when he didn’t respond. He jerked, and said, “Yes. And others.”

 

He moved to the computer, leaning down and shaking the mouse until the screen came on. He pressed a few buttons in a complicated program on one screen, and Rey saw that the other screen had a sheet music program open. 

 

“Try again,” he said, jumping to the amp next, fiddling with the dials.

 

When he stood, she pulled the bow and the entire room shook. She looked up at him with wide eyes and said, “Shit, that’s loud.”

 

He smiled. So, she played Bach’s Cello Suite again. Better this time, but she also couldn’t concentrate on what she was playing because the room vibrated with every stroke. 

 

She paused, finding him sitting in his computer chair watching her, leaning forward onto his knees. 

 

“Do your neighbors ever complain?” she asked. 

 

“They’ll knock the walls if they’re home.” He shrugged. “Or call the police.”

 

She laughed, but it seemed like he was completely serious. She glanced over his shoulder at the computer with the sheet music, and asked, “What are you working on?”

 

You know, like artists do. 

 

He turned to see the computer screen she referred to. “Oh. Just... a few things for rehearsal this afternoon.” He took the mouse and opened a few windows.

 

“When is rehearsal?”

 

“Twenty minutes ago.” 

 

She stared at him, clicking away at the desktop. 

 

“Oh. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have kept you-“

 

“No, no. It’s all just ‘hurry up and wait’ anyways.” He hit a button and something started printing. “Do you want to sight-read something?”

 

She thought about how often he was late to Pops rehearsals, strolling in with his Ray-Bans on even in the dead of winter, and giving Luke a mocking smile when he would say, "thank you for joining us, Mr. Ren."

 

She swallowed her chastising words about timeliness, and finally heard his question as he brought a music stand in front of her. 

 

"Sure," she squeaked. "Is this something the band plays?" She wasn't sure she could call it sight-reading if she'd already downloaded from iTunes and memorized the music he was collecting from the printer, but _he_ didn't have to know that.

 

"No, it's new." He dropped the pages on the stand and moved back to the amp, twisting knobs. 

 

She stared down at the untitled page. No tempo markings, no bow markings. Just notes on a staff.

 

He returned to his chair, facing her, running his hand through his hair again. She watched the way it fell exactly back into place, efforts futile.

 

"What's the tempo?" she asked.

 

He looked up from her fingers and blinked a few times. "There isn't one. The piece... doesn't exist yet." He swallowed. "Do what feels natural to you."

 

Rey looked down at the sheet music. She was tempted to take it very under-tempo, just so she could save face and not make mistakes. But the first few measures were blurring together in a swirl of notes and arpeggios.

 

She set the bow to Ruby’s strings, and chose her heartbeat for a tempo, dragging the bow across, listening to the speakers hum back at her. An aggravated tune, twisting like wind and biting like the cold. 

 

And then peace. Rey placed a _rallentando_ at the end of the measure, pouring the sound into the next, soothing the tension. 

 

A quick pull into another storm, but calmer, with structure. And then her eyes flickered to the next page, and she found fingerpicking notated, quick rhythms like rain. 

 

She slowed, fumbling to free her fingers of the bow for the plucking, and found the pace again while her fingers pulled at the strings, the electric bass pulsing the air with notes and rhythms. 

 

A quick change back to the bow - Rey could tell it was supposed to be sudden; the raindrop rhythm didn’t even complete the phrase. 

 

She felt her breath catch as the end ramped up. A challenging progression toward another arpeggio, fumbling down, down to something low and almost incomplete. 

 

And then the tonic. And then peace. 

 

Quiet. Rey stared at the page, wondering at its completion. After so long in aggravating phrases, to end so softly... She double-checked that she didn’t miss an accidental. 

 

“Was I even close?” She laughed, turning to him. 

 

Elbows on his knees again, leaning forward like his body begged him to be elsewhere. His eyes were dark, deep brown locked onto her face. 

 

She watched his throat move, and his lips press together before he asked, “Why did you choose violin over cello?”

 

She stared back at him, neck craned to the right to see him. 

 

“I was better at violin,” she whispered. 

 

She looked away, feeling very open and vulnerable under his stare, feeling something twisting in her stomach, low and dark. Like music. 

 

“What about you? Why did you choose cello over violin,” she asked, glancing at him. 

 

In the pause, he took a deep breath, and she did the same. 

 

“I was better at violin,” he echoed. 

 

She blinked at him, watching his eyes slide over her face, feeling like she’d gotten a rare glimpse at Ben Solo in that moment. 

 

He stood suddenly. “Play it again?” he asked. He knelt next to the amp, twisting dials, and then jumping to lean over the computer, clicking at a few programs. “You don’t feel it, do you?”

 

She swallowed. Oh, she felt something. 

 

“Sorry?”

 

“Don’t be sorry; just play it again,” he muttered, clicking through to a new screen. He turned back to her, stepping close and pushing his hair back. “Everything is too perfect. You don’t feel it.” He looked down at her, taking in her posture, seated forward, practically falling off the chair. “Start from the beginning.”

 

She turned back to the music, back to the arpeggios and gliding rhythms. 

 

She placed the bow to the strings and the room thundered. She gasped. He’d turned everything up, rocking the room.

 

She started over, wincing at the noise. The cops would be here soon. Her shoulders tightened against the vibrations. 

 

“No,” he called out over the sound, and she pulled the bow off, but there was an echo setting on, pulsing. “Let go.” 

 

She tried again, and the chair jerked, pulling her and the cello backward, closer to the speaker. She gasped soundlessly under the screech of the cello as the bow jumped, scraping against the strings in an odd scream. 

 

He turned her so the speaker was at her back, screaming into her spine. He spoke into her ear. She could feel his body leaning over the back of her chair.

 

“This is something you’re creating,” he whispered, just loud enough over the echoes. He reached around and plucked a string on the neck of the cello – the sound bouncing through the room. “Can you feel it? Here?” A finger on her back, between her shoulder blades.

 

She shivered. And nodded, focusing on the vibrations.

 

Both hands on her shoulders, palms warm through her shirt. Her skin prickled, chills running down her arms, into her fingers.

 

She placed the bow to the strings, left hand rearranging on the neck, and tried the piece again. She got through the first four measures, heart beating in her ears, before his left hand slid down her shoulder, rounding her arm to her wrist. His thumb rubbed a circle, and his voice brushed her ear, “Relax.”

 

She remembered his insult: _She holds the cello like a subway pole._

 

Her grip loosened, and she missed a few notes, not having the callouses on her fingers to make up for her grip.

 

She shook her head, frustrated with herself.

 

“It’s alright. Play it again.”

 

She started from the beginning, focusing on her left hand, relaxing. He kept his fingers light on her wrist to remind her, his body hovering over her, other hand still on her shoulder.

 

She got all the way to the fingerpicking section this time before he stopped her again.

 

“Play it again.”

 

She frowned, not sure what was wrong that time. The bow dragged, and he stopped her after the second measure.

 

“Play it again.”

 

She huffed, remembering the day she found him playing Bach over and over in a practice room, stopping for no reason just to start over at the beginning again. She was about to tell him to just let her fucking play it. He lifted off of her, twisting quickly to the computer.

 

“I want you to hear the difference,” he said, clicking buttons and opening another page. She watched him press a red button, and a recording line traveled across the screen, flat-lining. He reached over and plucked at a string, and they watched the vibration in the program.

 

She turned back to the music, feeling a bit of pressure now that they were recording. She took a breath, and focused on releasing her wrist, letting her fingers move lightly.

 

His hands returned to her shoulders just as she began to pull the bow, palms rounding outwards, fingers brushing down to the tops of her triceps.

 

She felt as riled up and itchy as the beginning section’s aggravated arpeggios alluded to. She danced across the strings, keeping her left fingers light but pushing through with an irritation.

 

“Yes,” he breathed into her ear. She felt the barest whisper of his lips across the skin. “Good.” His left hand traced across her shoulder. “No matter how frustrated you are”—fingers brushing across her pulse—“you have to be gentle with her neck.”

 

Rey swallowed. And she knew he could feel it.

 

She danced out of the arpeggios, and as she slowed for the next section, pulling the bow smoothly, she felt his fingers on her throat tapping lightly along with her left hand.

 

“Keep going.”

 

He shifted behind her as she moved into the next section, less wild as the first but still a whirlwind. And then he was behind her. Fitting into the space between her back and the back of the chair, sitting with his thighs on either side of her, his hands steadying himself on her hips.

 

The bow screeched, and the speaker thundered behind them.

 

“It’s alright,” he murmured into her neck. “We’re going to do it together.”

 

She started from the beginning without prompting. She could feel his breath on her skin, his fingertips light on her waist. She moved through the second measure, not sure if she wanted this to be over or to go on forever. And then he leaned forward, pressing his chest flush against her spine, pushing her body forward—and then back.

Moving her.

 

Like musicians do.

 

She thought of Ben Solo, his torso twisting with the violin. Hilary Hahn’s elbows dipping through difficult stanzas. Yo-Yo Ma’s closed eyes and shaking head.

 

She could feel his ribs expand, breathing into the music, and then he rolled into her again, waves in the ocean of this song. Lulling her to dreams.

 

The vibration of the music, humming through his chest and into her spine was intoxicating. She found a rhythm of her own against his body, eyes drifting. At the picking section, she felt his right hand tapping against her waist, whether consciously or not, finding the notes against her body.

 

And then.

 

And then.

 

Breath on her neck. His face turning slowly into her hair. Lips plucking across her skin, dragging like the bow in her hands.

 

She sighed, the room swallowing it. Swallowing her whole.

 

His fingers stayed light on her waist, and it only heated her further, her body starting to move in directions just to feel more pressure from him.

 

She slowed to the ending resolution, and when his lips pressed firmly on her neck, heating her skin, she started over without pause, back to the beginning.

 

_Don’t stop._

 

His teeth grazed her ear. And the tension in the arpeggios sailed, her fingers knowing them so well, she could close her eyes as his tongue pressed to her skin.

 

She flowed into the slow peace of the second section, and his right hand slid across her stomach, pressing his palm to her.

 

She hummed in harmony.

 

The chair vibrated under her, teasing her open legs. He shifted against her at the tempo change, and she gasped to feel him hard against her back. His lips sucked slowly on her neck.

 

Her arms shook with fatigue and something else. And the music drifted through her, coiling inside.

 

She began to pluck at the strings. And his fingers dipped into her waistband.

 

Her knees squeezed the cello braces on either side. And her ragged breath brought her back against his chest in short waves, pressing them together.

 

His fingers tumbled down, sliding under and running through her. Her head was spinning, eyes fluttering, and she couldn’t even hear the music any more, just the sound of his breath, harsh in her ear.

 

Rubbing at her, drifting across her clit, as she switched back to the bow. His lips kissed wetly at her jaw, sucking at her, marking her.

 

Her hips rolled against his fingers, the bow jumping off the strings for a moment, and he groaned into her skin, his hips pressing forward tight against her backside and his left hand squeezing at her side.

 

A frenzied pace, she closed her eyes and tried to picture the sheet music, building to the end, as his finger slipped down and pressed lightly at her entrance. She moaned, tilting her head onto his shoulder, playing music only she could hear, and just as he pushed inside of her, his other hand ran up her stomach to cover her breast, squeezing her close to him.

 

The song was almost finished.

 

He slid in and out of her, her muscles twitching and her legs pressing tight on the braces.

 

His tongue lapped at her neck, his fingers ran across her nipple, and his thumb twisted to press at her clit.

 

“Ben.”

 

Her hips jumped, squeezing him, holding him inside of her. Her arms shook, pulling the bow across the strings. The tonic. The resolution.

 

Her thighs shivered against his. Her throat clicked around air. Her walls fluttered in time with the vibrations in the room.

 

His fingers slipped out of her, his other hand running slow circles around her breast through her shirt, his lips in her hair.

 

“Good,” he whispered, voice shaking. “So good.”

 

Her eyes snapped open.

 

The room bounced and shook in front of her face.

 

His lips grazed across her pulse.

 

She jumped, standing from the chair, slipping out of his arms, and stumbling to the computer. She fumbled to hit the space bar with the cello and bow in her hands, stopping the recording. Just the cello piped in through the amp and wires. It didn’t record… It didn’t _hear_ her.

 

She spun to face him. Black eyes stared back at her. He sat in the chair, legs spread wide from where he’d cradled her, thick bulge in his dark denim jeans. He breathed sharply, dragging in air, staring at her like a predator, stalking her.

 

And maybe that’s what he was.

 

Maybe he lured her here to…

 

And he _recorded_.

 

She shivered.

 

_You need a teacher._

 

Maybe there were others. Other _students._

 

His eyes blinked back the heat, brows knitting together. “Rey?”

 

She flinched. She gestured to the computer and hissed, “Delete that.”

 

She placed Ruby and the bow down on the ground as softly as possible, snatched up her tote bag, and ran out of his studio, passing the dark bedroom and the expensive furniture and the uneaten tacos, throwing the door open wide and taking the stairs instead of waiting for the elevator.

 

~*~

 

Rey threw herself into preparing for her interview and the first day of rehearsals, decidedly _not_ thinking about the sound of his breath in her ear, the way his fingers played her like music, or the way the untitled song haunted her.

 

Or the way she’d called him Ben.

 

As it turned out, the “gig” the Knights of Ren had booked in the city was Saturday Night Live. Rey’s jaw dropped as the announcer called out their name, a picture of Kylo and the Knights popping up on the screen before the host started their monologue.

 

“Oh, shit,” Poe said. “Isn’t that that guy you know?”

 

~*~

 

172,026.

 

That’s how many Instagram followers Kylo Ren now had. It was only 9am on Sunday morning.

 

It rose by 1,000 every time she checked.

 

The radio station playing at her gym had picked up the songs they played the night before. She had to crank up her music to drown out the sound of Ruby humming through the dance beat.

 

The magazine with Kylo Ren on the cover was now pushed to the front of the magazine stands at her bookstore.

 

By the time Luke called her at noon, Rey just closed her eyes and nodded when he said, “I think we found how to fix our money problem, boost our subscribers. It’s uh… Well,”—he cleared his throat—“you are actually the only orchestra member who knew that his contract was terminated… Not that we’re being wishy-washy… I’m actually surprised he said yes.”

 

Rey ran her fingers across her face, staring at her Facebook feed with Kylo Ren’s hair flipping through the extreme lighting effects of studio 8H.

 

1.7 million views.

 

The publicity wrote itself really.

 

Kylo Ren would return to First Cello, just as Rey took up the First Chair, playing across from each other all season.

 

Because for some reason, he felt like backtracking in his career after the summer he’d had.

 

Rey rubbed her temple.

 

Perhaps the Chicago Symphony was hiring.


	5. It Had a Dying Fall

Monday was the hottest day of the year on record. 100% humidity. 98 degrees.

 

Luke arrived at the rehearsal space early to start the A/C and he texted Rey that if he couldn’t get it to a reasonable temperature that was also safe for the instruments, he would have to cancel rehearsal.

 

Rey prayed.

 

But when she got out of her interview, there was no text from Luke. So, she trudged her way to the subway and stood in the moist air next to sweating strangers.

 

The interview had been fun. Nice people asking nice questions. They had a stylist there to dress her and do her hair and makeup for the cover shoot. It was the first time someone spent time on her appearance like that. Definitely the first time a pencil had been that close to her eyeball.

 

The problem was, she now looked like she had dressed up for this rehearsal, taking care with her makeup and hair. Which, she had _not,_ and absolutely had not for someone in particular.

 

Rey tossed her hair back up on the train, checking in her cell phone camera that she wasn’t sweating off the makeup in a bad way.

 

That’s when she remembered the hickeys.

 

“Shit.”

 

She took her hair back down.

 

The stylist had leaned in close and told her she was going to cover a few places on her neck if that was alright. Rey had blushed, and nodded, apologizing for… something.

 

But she had sweat off that concealer now. She stood on the subway, scalp sweating and uncomfortable dripping happening in several places on her skin.

 

She arrived at the rehearsal space off 8th and after a quick glance confirming that Kylo Ren had not yet arrived, she began saying her hellos and tuning her violin.

 

Rey introduced herself to the two new violinists, one of them taking her old spot.

 

At 1pm on the dot, a pair of Ray-Bans walked into the room carrying a Stradivarius case. A small chorus from the cellos and basses, congratulations and male bonding and other things Rey ignored as she flipped her pages, eyes firmly planted on her music stand.

 

She heard the chair across from her drag against the floor, and the  _oomph_ of a heavy body landing into it. Rey tried not to concentrate on the knowledge she had about that body. How those thick thighs could hug her hips, how that chest expanded in quick rhythms when his panting breath—

 

“Welcome back, everyone!”

 

A cheer greeted Luke. And Rey smiled at him, vision blacking out where a hulking figure was bending to open his cello case. 

 

“We have some exciting changes this year,” Luke hollered over the noise. “As we know, my sister Leia is now on the board of directors, making way for our Rey Johnson to take up First Chair.”

 

Luke swept his hand towards her and the room exploded into sound, cheering and whooping. She blushed, and waved, not daring to see if  _everyone_  was applauding. 

 

Luke continued, “And our own Kylo Ren had an incredible summer. His band was on SNL this weekend—“

 

Loud. Loud, loud. Rey applauded with everyone, eyes on Luke. She saw in his face the strain, the incredible effort he was putting into praising his nephew. And Rey realized just how humbling it must have been to call Kylo and ask if he would consider taking his chair back. 

 

“I know an email was sent out, but we’ll talk a bit later about the added concert and the performance with the Broadway League. A few structural changes to our regular concerts as well...”

 

Structural changes. Rey frowned. 

 

“But let’s jump right into it! Turn your books to the... Green Bay song.”

 

“Green Day!” The whole group laughed and Luke shook his head, muttering. 

 

Rey smiled and focused on the piece she’d almost memorized by now. 

 

When Luke took questions at the end, a hand behind her shot into the air. 

 

“I have a bowing question for Rey.”

 

Diane. Fucking Diane. 

 

“This  _allegro_  section? Can we get the up-bow before it? It would make for an easier draw I would think.”

 

Rey swallowed, turning to look at Diane. She’d changed the bowing yesterday, officially following her gut, going against Leia’s advice. 

 

“It might be easier, yes,” she said, “but I’d prefer to keep it as it is. The breath is on the third beat.”

 

Diane raised a brow. “For sixteen musicians to sync up like that... I don’t know.”

 

Rey heard Kylo’s words from last week. Sixteen violinists of their caliber should be able to do this. She believed that.

 

She also heard rumbling through the violins, an older gentleman was nodding with Diane and a young Asian girl frowned at Rey. 

 

Rey resisted the urge to look to Luke for help. 

 

Diane tilted her head and said, “I know this is new to you, so—“

 

And something snapped. “You can do it, Diane. I believe in you.” She sent her a smile and turned around. 

 

Silence. 

 

Luke raised a brow at her, and smiled. Her heart beat, unused to rudeness in her veins. 

 

And her eyes lifted to him without permission. 

 

Navy T-shirt. Dark eyes. And the lips that had been on her neck, turning up into a smirk. 

 

Something like pride. Something like desire. 

 

She flipped the page back, and said, “Should we take it again for Diane?”

 

~*~

 

At their ten-minute break, Rey jumped up to run to the table in the corner where Luke and Leia always set out tea and coffee, occasionally cookies or donuts. 

 

She grabbed an oatmeal raisin cookie just as a shadow crossed over the table. 

 

“Rey—“

 

“You could have told me the gig was SNL.” She glared down at the cookie. Apparently _that_ was all she was angry about today. 

 

When no further comments were made in her direction, she pulled out a ten dollar bill she had pressed into her pocket for this exact moment, and extended it to him. 

 

“For the tacos.”

 

A pause while she stared at his forearm, not reaching for the bill. 

 

“You didn’t eat them.”

 

She breathed in the rumble of his voice, and said, “It doesn’t matter. They were mine.”

 

“They were nine dollars.”

 

She slapped the $10 bill on the snack table and said, “You tipped a dollar.”

 

She spun, heading back to her chair. 

 

“Maybe you can buy me a coffee instead. If you really want to pay me back.”

 

She faced him, scowling. His brows high on his forehead, waiting on her answer. 

 

She marched back to the table, snatched up the $10 bill, grabbed a Styrofoam cup from the stack, and turned the coffee carton over, pouring a cup. 

 

She was just jamming the bill back into her pocket when he stepped into her, blocking her from walking away. 

 

“I shouldn’t have touched you,” he whispered. “I’m sorry, I was...” He swallowed, and she watched his throat move. He pushed a hand through his hair, staring down at her. His eyes landed on her lips, and his words drifted away. 

 

She stepped back. Before she...

 

“Thank you. For the… tacos.” 

 

She returned back to her chair, and didn’t look at him for the rest of the rehearsal. 

 

~*~

 

“Be careful with Ben.”

 

Rey snapped her head to look at Luke as he paid for her sandwich. 

 

“Or... Kylo Ren or whoever.” He waved his hand over the name, like it was a fly in his face. “I think he likes you.”

 

Rey flushed and looked down at the muffins and croissants in the case at the counter. 

 

“He’s... well, you know how he is in rehearsals. Moody, a little violent. He used to be a good kid but...”

 

Rey watched him, waiting, breathless. Desperate to know anything more about Ben Solo. 

 

“What happened?” she rasped.

 

“Well, he went to live with his dad in Jersey for a few years. When he was twelve or so. He’d become... difficult.”

 

Leia never talked about her husband. Rey only learned she was still married from an accidental quip from Luke years ago.

 

Luke led her to a table in the corner, and Rey bounced behind him, waiting to hear more. “Difficult, how?” she asked.

 

“He started acting out,” Luke said. “He mastered the violin so young and with so much praise around him at all times he just…” Luke stared over her shoulder. “For example, he started getting offers for guest contracts in concerts across the world when he was ten. Leia accepted a few, but she also knew how overwhelming it can be to grow up in the spotlight. She and I were always on display. Always had to be perfect.” His lips twitched at a lost memory. “And Leia didn’t want that pressure on him.” Luke smiled at her. “But telling a teenager he has to go to school instead of Berlin? A teenager with that kind of talent and future?”

 

Luke chuckled. Rey couldn’t even fathom the idea of going to Berlin for fun, much less work. But there was also something else… something she couldn’t quite articulate. Something about being sent away, living away from your family…

 

“How long did he live with his dad?” Rey asked, unwrapping her sandwich.

 

“Four years. Then they stopped getting along, too.” Luke sipped from his straw. “He came back to New York just before college applications, so Leia could take him to a few programs. Make sure she could shake hands with the Deans and introduce him as her son.” He frowned. “He got into Julliard. Went for two years. And then dropped out.”

 

Rey looked up, crumbs falling from her lips. “He dropped out?”

 

Luke nodded. “He’d started playing rock, playing cello instead. He’d met an agent who helped him build the Knights of Ren. Changed his name and corrected anyone who referred to him as Ben Solo.” Luke chuckled. “We had to pay quite a bit of money to change his name in the Pops program the first year. We’d printed Ben Solo, and he wouldn’t settle for an insert. His lawyer called.”

 

“His friends call him Ben,” Rey said, frowning down at her sandwich, remembering Hux saying, _We need to call Ben._

 

He certainly hadn’t corrected _her_ when she’d whispered _Ben_ as she—

 

“And are you two friends?”

 

Her eyes snapped up to Luke’s. He was watching her.

 

“I noticed you played a piece he arranged at the Anniversary Concert.” Luke grinned. “It had been so long since I’d heard it…”

 

A piece he arranged. Well, fuck. Of course they all recognized it.

 

“Um, no. I just… found it online.” She looked down. “We aren’t friends.”

 

Luke studied her. She could feel his eyes even as she looked down.

 

“Just be careful.” Luke sighed. “He’s an excellent musician. And he’s family. But he’s selfish and destructive.”

 

Luke picked at his sandwich. And Rey felt there was more he wasn’t telling her.

 

~*~ 

 

Fingertips tracing her arms. 

 

Lips behind her ear. 

 

Hot breath against her hair. 

 

A solid chest behind her. 

 

And an untitled song humming through her blood. 

 

Rey opened her eyes, her stomach twisting and curling. She pushed her sweating hair off her face, breathing deep as her thighs burned. 

 

Fuck. 

 

Fuck fuck. 

 

She turned to check how much time before her alarm went off, and her thighs pressed together, sizzling through her tingling skin. 

 

Rey lay on her side, and before she could judge herself, she slipped her hand into her pajamas, giving herself two minutes to remember the dream — the memory. And just before she came, she imagined his long, calloused fingers turning her face to his, his tongue slipping into her mouth as his fingers rubbed at her. 

 

Rey stared at the ceiling, breath coming back to her. 

 

Then she dragged herself from bed, and ran for a cold shower. 

 

~*~

 

She thought getting off was supposed to relax a person. 

 

But every stranger who bumped her, every train door that closed on her shoulder, every August rain drop that plummeted onto her person sent her into a craze. 

 

By the time she sat in her rehearsal chair, took a deep, Zen breath, and focused on her sheet music, she thought she had herself back in control. 

 

But then 10:01 rolled past, bleeding into 10:05 and 10:10, and still the chair opposite her remained empty. 

 

When Kylo Ren did push open the door at 10:13, Ray-Bans firmly locked into place, Rey shook her head and pressed her lips together, turning her eyes back on the page the orchestra was in the middle of. 

 

She listened to several instruments blow and bow out of tune, as a chair dragged back, a cello case snapped open, a leather jacket peeled off thick arms, and a pair of sunglasses dropped into the cello case. 

 

At the end of the piece, Luke cut them off, and said, “Welcome, Mr. Ren,” in genuine sincerity.

 

Rey narrowed her eyes, and stared at Luke. So hesitant with him. Like a dynamic had shifted between them once the Pops lost the grant and they had to crawl back to Kylo Ren. 

 

To his credit, Kylo didn’t smirk or take a little bow like he used to. He said nothing. Just continued setting up, dropping the pin pad onto the floor. 

 

“Did you find the place okay?” The dull words slipped out of Rey’s addled brain, and past her lips, a chastising quip. 

 

Silence. He looked up at her for the first time, eyes shadowed and hair limp with the rain. 

 

She heard a few titters behind her. Diane was probably huffing.  

 

It wasn’t her place to admonish another orchestra member. It was Luke’s. But he refused to discipline him, so…

 

She glared at Kylo Ren as Luke instructed them to turn back to the top, hiding a smile

 

He stared back at her, eyes dark and drilling into her as she lifted her violin. 

 

~*~

 

“You’re getting a reputation.”

 

Rey’s fingers shook at the voice behind her, ripping at the honey packet she was working open to squeeze into her tea at the snack table.

 

“Oh good,” she quipped. “That makes two of us.” She kept her gaze on the cup in front of her, working quickly despite the sticky honey on her fingers. 

 

“Oh yeah? What’s my reputation?” 

 

She pressed her lips together. “Hostile. Arrogant. And late."

 

"You care deeply about timeliness." 

 

He said it as a fact, not a question, but still she needed to respond, "If someone says they'll be somewhere, they should be there. It's not fair to make people wait."

 

She tried not to analyze where these feeling stemmed from. 

 

“According to Armitage, you were late to Gwen’s wedding.”

 

She looked up to see his eyes on her fingers. 

 

“What the fuck is an Armitage.”

 

His eyes snapped back to her, his lips splitting wide, showing off his crooked teeth, and chuckling a deep sound. 

 

“Armitage Hux. The best man.”

 

Oh, the redhead with the stick up his ass. Rey clenched her jaw and said, “By two minutes. I had to take an Uber in the middle of Jersey that ended up costing me half of what I was paid for the gig.” She dumped another honey packet into her tea. “Tardiness is a choice. New Jersey transit took that choice from me. What’s your excuse?”

 

She paused in the middle of reaching for a napkin to wipe her sticky fingers when he stepped closer to her. She felt his chest just inches from her arm, and she struggled to keep her eyes down. 

 

“I can be on time when it’s important to me. Let me prove it to you. Meet me for —“

 

“So, the New York Pops isn’t important to you?” she snapped, looking up at him and seeing his warm gaze and parted lips, in the middle of a sentence. In the middle of an offer. “ _Saturday Night Live_  isn’t important to you?”

 

He swallowed. “No. I had something far more important going on that day.”

 

She blamed the dream. Blamed the heat. Blamed the stupid fucking look in his eyes for the way heat spread in her chest, blooming deep in her stomach. 

 

And definitely blamed the dream when she chose to suck the honey off her fingers, deeply aware of his eyes on her lips. 

 

When she pulled her second finger into her mouth, eyes on him, he drew in a slow breath and leaned a hand on the table. 

 

She returned to her chair. And ignored his eyes and the way he kept missing entrances. 

 

~*~

 

He was never late again. Consistently five minutes early. 

 

He would approach her if she left her chair at breaks. And he would watch her if she stayed in her chair. 

 

So, she went to the bathroom, disappearing for ten minutes and returning right before the rehearsal assistant called them back. 

 

The week of the September concert, he stood when she stood, and she listened to his footsteps behind her on the way to bathroom. Her steps picked up, like some kind of horror movie, and when she turned to deadbolt the door behind her, his arm slid in at the last second, shoving his way inside. 

 

“What if I really did have to pee?” she snapped at him. 

 

“Can I see you?” he breathed like he’d just run the length of Manhattan. 

 

“You’re seeing me now.”

 

“After rehearsal. Any day. Or morning.” A hand shoved through his hair. “I’ll be on time.” He sent her a shaky smile, quickly pressing his lips together. “Please.”

 

She blinked away the image of his smile. “I need to concentrate on the concert. I won’t have time—“

 

“After. On Saturday night, after the concert.”

 

Just the idea of meeting him at night, after a cocktail party, had her spinning. “That’s not a good idea—“

 

“Rey.” He stepped into her. 

 

“I’ll be… with friends, and—“

 

“Are you seeing someone.” His eyes dragged over her face. “I never... I didn’t ask before.”

 

Rey snorted, thinking of Baz’s Instagram, filled with selfies of her and him, usually with his hand in front of his face in a classic “no pictures” pose.

 

“Like that matters to you.” She rolled her eyes. His brows twitched downwards, and he stepped closer as her back hit the tiles. “Look, I don’t know what you want from me, but—“

 

“Anything.” Black eyes looked down on her, and he took a shaking breath. Hands pressed to the wall beside her shoulders, like he was physically holding himself away. His head dipped to her neck, lips against her ear. “Everything.”

 

She felt the heat spinning in her again, blossoming from his lips and his breath, and twisting through her chest and low in her belly.

 

“Tell me I can see you again.”

 

The air brushing against her neck shivered her skin, and just before her eyes fluttered closed, she caught a glimpse of herself in the bathroom mirror.

 

Pinned to a wall in a public bathroom, a large body caging her in, a hand drifting, about to touch her arm. And a rehearsal room steps away, with only minutes to spare before they were needed back. Back to her leadership position.

 

This was insanity. This wasn’t her. This was…

 

 _Destructive_.

 

Destructive and selfish. Just like Luke said.

 

His lips touched down on her jaw, his hair teasing her forehead. His fingers traced a pattern across her arm.

 

“No.”

 

The sound popped from her throat, like a pin in a balloon.

 

His lips lifted off her skin. His fingers froze.

 

“No,” she repeated, more confident. “That’s not a good idea.”

 

She felt him take a deep breath, watching his shoulders shake in the mirror. She slipped under his arm, reaching for the door, and looked back as it closed to see him still standing with his hands against the tiles, his eyes pressed closed, and his breath coming quick.

 

She ran for the rehearsal room, taking her seat again, and flipping quickly to the next piece.

 

As the assistant announced the end of the break, she heard the door open. She listened to heavy boots pace to the chair across from her. The chair creaked and groaned under his weight.

 

“So, as I mentioned before,” Luke said, drawing her eyes from where they were firmly planted on her sheet music. “There will be a few changes to the normal line up. A way to spice things up. We’re very proud this year to feature Kylo in a new way. He’s been doing some composing, and has agreed to play a new piece at our concert.”

 

Rey’s eyes snapped to Kylo. He was bent, picking his cello out of the case again. The tips of his ears were red. She felt her own cheeks darken as Luke’s words made more sense to her.

 

“Kylo, would you like to share it with us?” Luke said.

 

He leaned back in his chair, cello bow in hand, and rubbed his eye with the other hand. “Not really, no.”

 

Luke’s expression fell, taking it personally. Then from behind her: “Oh, I’d love to hear it!”

 

Fucking Diane.

 

A chorus started, echoing Diane’s sentiments, until Kylo rolled his shoulders back, placed his bow on the Stradivarius, and pulled the first arpeggios of the song Rey had played in his apartment.

 

She watched his left hand move through the fingering, sliding over the notes and humming through the melody that still haunted her in the mornings.

 

She looked to his face, and found him frowning down at the floor. Not even half of the passion he normally played with.

 

He followed the tempo she’d set a few weeks ago, even taking her breaths and _rallentandos,_ the way she’d breathed into the new sections as she prepared for the differing rhythms.

 

The fingerpicking. And he skipped the same notes she had. Even though he was the one to write them down. Even though his ideas were better. Even though she had played it like an amateur.

 

And when the crescendo came, the aggravated ending that eventually evened out into peace… When his lips pressed together, his cheeks pink and his eyes closed… When his tongue swiped across his bottom lip at the very same place in the song that he’d lapped at her skin… That was when she realized.

 

He hadn’t deleted the recording.

 

The bow lifted off the strings. The orchestra clapped for him. He gave a false smile to the ground in thanks.

 

“Wonderful, Kylo,” Luke said. “Absolutely stunning. Do you have a title for it yet?”

 

He rubbed his brow, and shook his head, eyes pressing closed. “I had one. I have to rename it.”

 

Rey swallowed, and looked back at her music, turning pages as Luke announced the next song.

 

And as rehearsal closed that day, she couldn’t decide which was more unnerving: his gaze on her face, her body, her instrument every moment for two weeks… or the absence of it.


	6. O, It Came O'er My Ear Like the Sweet South

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all thanks so much for receiving me with welcome arms in this community. :) Special thanks to Mh Calamas for the aesthetic. :)

 

Leia was able to secure the _New York Times._

 

For Rey… and Kylo Ren.

 

The perfect team.

 

That’s how Rey found herself sitting at a small café table on a patio on 68th Street on Saturday morning, waiting in silence for the interviewer to return from picking up his cappuccino at the counter. Waiting with her knees tucked as far into her body as possible. Like she was some kind of human folding chair. Because the alternative… Well, the alternative—

 

Ben’s knee bumped hers as he re-crossed his legs.

 

“Sorry—“

 

“I’m—yeah.”

 

Silence again.

 

He’d ordered an espresso. And the tiny cup looked so silly in his huge hands that she almost laughed whenever he sipped.

 

His Ray-Bans were on. He was in black again.

 

And everything about him – from his clothes, to his holier-than-thou attitude, to the way he didn’t acknowledge her except for when their knees touched – made Rey feel like an idiot in her yellow sundress and floppy hat.

 

But Kourtney would approve.

 

“Thanks for waiting,” Mark, the interviewer, said. He tumbled into the chair opposite them, and Rey smiled. Friendly. Approachable. One of them should be. Mark would come to the concert tonight to review it, and the story would print in Sunday’s _Times._ “So, Rey!” He waved at hand at her, flipping open his notepad. “You are the youngest violinist to take First Chair in New York history.”

 

“In the Western Hemisphere,” a voice mumbled next to her.

 

Both she and Mark looked at Ben as he sipped his comically small cup, content to interrupt.

 

She looked back to Mark. “That’s what they say,” she offered with a grin.

 

“You must be excited,” Mark prompted her.

 

“Absolutely. I’m beyond honored that the New York Pops offered it to me. I’d never envisioned this for myself, so I’m thrilled for this opportunity.”

 

Blah, blah, blah. Rey had learned by now that all interviews were the same. Same answers, just different phrasing to the questions.

 

“Luke Skywalker taught you to play the violin. Is that correct?”

 

“I… sort of. I started played when I was eleven”—Mark wrote something down—“and then Luke started teaching me when I was fourteen. He was my first formal teacher.”

 

“Where did you meet him?”

 

“He and I went to the same music store in Brooklyn. Maz’s Music Shop.” Scribbling. “And then he heard me play in the Union Square subway station. I’d set up at rush hour with my case out for tips.”

 

She smiled, having learned by now that this was a charming story that people chuckled at, and not something that she tried to forget.

 

“And what did you use that money for?” Mark asked with a grin.

 

Food.

 

New shoes.

 

Once – _once_ – a move ticket. The final Harry Potter film. She’d signed up for a theater rewards card at the concessions stand and got a free small popcorn. She rationalized that at least she got dinner out of it.

 

Rey swallowed and smiled brightly. “Clothes, candy, and movies.”

 

Mark chuckled. And she could feel a pair of Ray-Bans turned on her.

 

“And were your parents supportive of your music?”

 

And there it was.

 

It was easy to lie to strangers in the Plaza ballroom as they pried. It was even easy to dodge the magazine interviewer when they asked if there was musical talent in her family. But to be asked point-blank about her parents by the _New York Times_ …

 

“I… don’t have those,” she said, laughing awkwardly at her iced latte. “But my foster families were always… um… happy I had a hobby.”

 

She could have handled that better. She winced at her stuttering.

 

Mark looked up at her, eyes roving over her like she’d just declared that she was from Jupiter and had come in peace. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he said, with the sincerity of a human person, but the eagerness of a reporter who’d found an angle. “So, Luke mentored you from the age of fourteen onwards?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“And you’re close with his sister Leia as well, right?”

 

“Was this feature supposed to cover both of us?” a harsh voice to her right. “Or am I excused?”

 

She narrowed her eyes at him. What a fucking baby.

 

Mark cleared his throat and apologized, turning his attention to Ben. He asked about the Knights of Ren, the recent tour, when they were recording again, and SNL.

 

Ben answered succinctly and without passion. Rey slurped her latte whenever he was being a dick.

 

“And you’ve been with the Pops for several years now?”

 

“Five.”

 

“And with all the success you’ve had with the Knights of Ren, why stay on with the Pops? It seems like your career is really taking off. What is it about the Pops that keeps you coming back?”

 

Rey turned to look at him, wondering the same thing. She stared at his impenetrable sunglasses, and watched him swallow.

 

It was silent. A taxi honked down the street and tourists chattered in other languages. But at this café table, it felt like a vacuum. She watched Ben take a deep breath, and still say nothing.

 

“I think…” Rey squeaked. “I mean, there’s been such an opportunity this season to showcase his original pieces.” She smiled at Mark who was scribbling, probably notating the absence of an answer more than the one she was giving. “This season includes a Kylo Ren original cello solo in our concert program. He played it for the orchestra yesterday, and it’s magnificent.”

 

“Can’t wait to hear it,” Mark said, smiling tightly. He glanced between the two of them and then asked, “And did you two meet at the Pops?”

 

Now it was Rey’s turn to pause dramatically.

 

“Yep.” She sent him a pained grin. “I started two seasons ago in the first violin section. So, we met at my first rehearsal.”

 

Ben was still next to her.

 

Mark wrote something down and asked, “And have you been to any Knights of Ren concerts? Do you enjoy the group?”

 

She blinked at him and nodded, choosing her words carefully. “I haven’t had the chance yet, but I’ve downloaded every song.”

 

Mark closed his notebook. “Well, thanks, you two.” He sipped down his cappuccino and stood, extending his hand to both of them. “Thanks for meeting on the morning of the concert. I hope you live close.”

 

“Yeah,” Rey said, standing. “I’m just up in Harlem, and Ben is only a few blocks away.”

 

She grinned at Mark, and watched his eyes turn to Ben, and then back to her. Ben was still sitting, clenching his jaw.

 

“You’ll need to strike that,” he said, gruff voice directed to Mark.

 

Rey blinked. Should she not have mentioned where he lived? Was he famous enough now that something like that mattered?

 

Mark opened his mouth, a glint in his eyes like a second interview was beginning.

 

“Thanks, Mark,” Ben cut him off. “Hope you enjoy the show.”

 

Rey stared at him, trying to figure out what the fuck his problem was. He stood, shaking Mark’s hand again, a bit too firmly.

 

She grabbed her bag, waved goodbye to Mark, and headed toward the subway entrance.

 

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t call me Ben.”

 

She spun. He stood at the entrance of the café patio, heading the other direction as her.

 

 _Ben is only a few blocks away_.

 

And like a good interviewer, Mark knew exactly who he was, desperate to ask more once Rey had opened the door for him.

 

She remembered what Luke said about the lawyer calling when the program was printed incorrectly. No one was allowed to put two-and-two together.

 

“Your friends called you Ben. At the wedding,” she said.

 

He stared at her, Ray-Bans shielding him. “I wasn’t aware that we were friends.”

 

Like a cloud settled over the sun, cooling the pavements and sending a wind through the air.

 

Rey swallowed. “No, I guess we aren’t.”

 

She turned and headed home to get ready.

 

~*~

 

She’d bought a new outfit for the concert with her first paycheck. While the rest of the orchestra females got away with recycling dresses each concert, Leia had always had a new dress. Almost like a guest of honor. Articles were written highlighting her fashion.

 

So, at Leia’s insisting, Rey had gone with a jumpsuit with a tailored tuxedo jacket.

 

“It will separate you from everyone,” Leia insisted. “Keep you youthful.”

 

When she came into Amilyn Holdo’s office Saturday evening to show off her outfit to Leia and Amilyn, the latter gasped, saying “Oh, the _Times_ will eat you up.” Her eyes traced Rey’s long pant legs while she spun in a circle for them. “How was the interview today?”

 

“Good,” she said. “B—Kylo was in a mood though. I don’t know if that will make it into the papers.”

 

Leia rolled her eyes. “Wonderful.”

 

“Thank you for sharing the feature with him,” Dr. Holdo said. “I knew we could guarantee a spot in tomorrow’s paper with both of you.”

 

“Of course.” Rey smiled, forgetting the reflection of her confused eyes in a pair of Ray-Bans.

 

An hour later, she waited backstage with her violin. Squeaky. She smiled. She hadn’t called it Squeaky since she was a child. Hadn’t thought about that nickname until Ben asked her.

 

Kylo.

 

What a stupid fucking name.

 

“Places for act one,” the stage manager called out, walking the halls to knock on bathroom and changing room doors. “Onstage places for Orchestra, standby for First Violin, standby for Conductor.”

 

“Thank you,” Rey said, as she passed.

 

She hadn’t seen Kylo yet. It was common for the orchestra to tune up, wandering from stage to backstage until places. But she still felt the absence of him.

 

“Ready?” Luke appeared at her side, looking dapper as always in his tux. She smiled at him, and he lifted her hand to spin her in a circle. “You look gorgeous, Rey.”

 

She bit her lip and looked down at her too-tall-heels. “Your sister got her hands on me.”

 

“She does that.” He chuckled. “I’m very proud of you.”

 

She looked up, finding his warm blue eyes on her.

 

“I don’t have expensive makeup on, you know,” she chastised him. “If you make me cry, it will be a mess.”

 

He grinned and chucked her chin.

 

In no time at all, the stage manager was calling her to the stage and bright light was on her face, and a crowd of thousands was applauding her. She smiled up to the top tier, where the high school students who got in for free sat.

 

She moved to her chair, _her_ chair. And just across from her sat Kylo Ren in his tuxedo. Rey looked away before her eyes lingered too long.

 

She grinned at the First Oboe, asking for the A. She lifted her violin to her chin, and listened as the most beautiful sound swept through her ears. An orchestra tuning. _Her_ orchestra.

 

She almost didn’t catch it in her haze. Like a fly buzzing in a quiet room. Or an itch between your shoulder blades.

 

The orchestra quieted, but Rey stood there, staring at them.

 

Someone was out of tune.

 

She felt it in her blood.

 

Just the tiniest bit out of sync. Somewhere in the second violins. Or maybe the clarinets. No, it was strings.

 

She was standing there, with her back turned to 3,000 people, waiting for someone to tell her what to do. It was her _job_ to make sure the orchestra was in tune. And maybe no one would really notice if one violinist was off. But their partners would. And the entire performance would be spent trying to retune them mid-song.

 

She’d never in her life seen a First Violinist ask for the tuning a second time. But she’d heard what she’d heard, right? Or maybe it was nothing.

 

Luke wasn’t here. He was waiting backstage for her to sit down.

 

But that familiar pull tugged at her, turning her eyes on him, like a string on her violin, vibrating, drawing her to Ben.

 

His eyes were on the second violins, brows drawn together.

 

And that settled it.

 

“Roger,” she said. And the First Oboist jerked his head to her. “Again please?”

 

The crowd shifted behind her. And the orchestra looked amongst themselves for the traitor. And when they played the A again, she watched an older gentleman in the second violin section twist a peg, tightening his instrument. He looked at her and nodded, blushing slightly.

 

The instruments quieted, and Rey bowed her head, thanking them. As she took her seat, her eyes drifted to him, sitting across from her with his Stradivarius between his legs, watching her. A small twitch of his lips that she felt humming in her chest.

 

She looked away to find Luke entering, and applauded.

 

~*~ 

 

Luke introduced her to the crowd after the second song. She stood and waved. The orchestra applauded with the audience, and she saw from the corner of her eye a pair of large hands clapping around the neck of a cello.

 

Kylo Ren played his solo as the second to last song in the first act. He stood, turning his chair forward to face the audience, and when Luke introduced him, Rey heard girls screaming from the top tiers. She rolled her eyes at her music pages.

 

Luke had some lovely words of praise for Kylo Ren. Words that sounded like they came from a proud uncle. She saw Kylo’s lips press together, annoyed. Luke introduced the song as “Fugue No. 1, Unaccompanied.”

 

Rey blinked at his profile as he settled in the chair. She didn’t know why she had expected something like “Autumn Rain” or “First Beginnings” or something awfully sappy for a Kylo Ren original. Of course, he would choose something complicated, with classical influences, rich with meaning and meant to fly over the heads of ninety percent of the audience.

 

He still played the same mistakes she had performed. Like his original version of the song that he’d copied into sheet music had evaporated. His jaw was set, and his eyes closed, much more connected than his performance for the orchestra earlier in the week. His head moved, free of his neck and shoulders, soft curls in his hair flowing around his chin.

 

The raindrop section… fingerpicking his way through the complex notes. So much more romantic on his Stradivarius than on Ruby. Only pure strings and echoes, nothing diluted through speakers. And Carnegie Hall breathed in the sound, spinning back to him.

 

He flipped his hand around the bow in a beautiful dance, ending the fingerpicking and moving towards the ending. A building storm that she knew coalesced, and then dropped into peace.

 

She watched his lips press together, eyes closed, an agitation that she remembered humming through her, but she knew there was harmony at the end, a waiting solitude, building and swirling.

 

Her body throbbed, remembering.

 

She dragged in a shaking breath as he approached the end, his shoulders shaking and tensing.

 

A pause. And she waited for the final note, resolving and pulling pleasure through her veins.

 

It never came.

 

The bow lifted from the strings. And he opened his eyes, bowing his head to the audience as they came to understand that the song was over. A slow building applause.

 

Rey felt… angry. Like he’d… like they’d…

 

Well, honestly… like he’d stopped right before she came.

 

She glared down at the last song of act one, ignoring his large body as he repositioned his chair, facing her again. She felt the song still buzzing in her.

 

Maybe he didn’t equate the song with her. Maybe it wasn’t all about _her_. It was “Fugue No. 1” after all, possibly the first of many. Maybe he was just setting up for more sections.

 

She still felt overwhelmed with…

 

She concentrated on rage. That was an easier emotion.

 

The applause died down, and Luke retook the stand. She chanced one look at Kylo Ren before the moment was over.

 

She expected his eyes on her, glaring at her, smirking at her.

 

He stared down at his music pages, flipping to the next song, eyes and lips turned down. He ran a hand through his hair before his fingers settled on the neck of his cello. His lips tremored, his teeth worrying at the inside of his mouth.

 

He didn’t look up at her.

 

Rey shook her head, clearing it. Not everything was about her.

 

Luke reintroduced the guest singer, and Rey finished act one with a flustered brain and a heated chest.

 

~*~

 

The Plaza hosted them again for the after party. The Pops always took a week off after a concert, so each after party was a huge affair. This evening was not as grand as the anniversary party, and each orchestra member was only allowed one guest for free instead of the four they were allowed at the April concerts.

 

Finn and Poe met her briefly after the show, hugging and taking selfies, but she let them opt out of paying $200 for their second ticket to the after party.

 

Poe went to flag a cab to take the two of them to some of their favorite, cheaper bars in the East Village.

 

“You sure you don’t need me there tonight?” Finn asked. “You know how much I love free booze.”

 

“You love free booty more,” Rey teased him.

 

“I do.” Finn grinned. “I really do.”

 

“I’ll be fine. I’m sure I’d get swept away again and would leave you alone for most of the evening.”

 

“It’s tough to be so famous,” he said, pressing a hand over his heart. He brought his hands to her cheeks, pulling her head to his. “No drugs. No subway home after 1AM. No private after-after parties with men you don’t know.”

 

She grinned, and he kissed the corner of her mouth a dozen times until she pushed him away, laughing.

 

“Get outta here,” she said.

 

He started to head for where Poe was standing on the corner, but his eyes caught over her shoulder. “Hey, man,” he said. “Beautiful piece. I was really, really impressed.”

 

Rey froze, hoping…maybe he was talking to a ghost. Or a streetlamp.

 

“Thanks,” Ben’s voice rumbled about five feet behind her, near the side door to Carnegie Hall. Rey crossed her arms, blaming the chills on her skin on the September wind, and not the memory of his voice behind her ear. “Kylo Ren.”

 

And then he was stepping to Finn, extending his hand. Rey bit her lip and looked down.

 

“Finn. We’ve met, actually. Rey and I played your friend’s wedding.”

 

A pause, and Rey looked up at Kylo, finding his eyes running over Finn. “Right, sorry. Finn. You play piano.”

 

He had his cello with him. As always. There were lockers at Carnegie for the musicians to leave their instruments to pick up after the party or tomorrow morning, but Kylo Ren always took his instrument home first. Rey would too if she had a Stradivarius.

 

Finn nodded, and said, “Again, great piece. I really enjoyed it.” He turned to Rey. “Have a great time. I’m so proud of you.”

 

She smiled.

 

“You’re not coming to the party?”

 

Christ, why was he so fucking talkative?

 

She looked up to his considerable height and saw his eyes drilling into Finn, watching, cataloguing.

 

“He can’t,” Rey said, not bothering to explain the problem of not having a spare $200 for one night of drinking to someone who owned a $750,000 cello.

 

Finn grinned apologetically, and headed to where Poe had flagged a cab. He pointed to Rey as he walked backwards. “See you at home.”

 

She smiled, waving to Poe as they slipped inside the car.

 

And then it was just her and Kylo Ren. So, Rey cleared her throat and said, “See you over there,” walking to join a few clarinet and piccolo players in the walk to the Plaza.

 

She took advantage of the open bar for the first hour. She was dragged into pictures and conversations and miniature interviews from friends and strangers alike. She said hello to Mark again and made sure he felt welcomed. An older gentleman cornered her for almost fifteen minutes, talking about how he was sure there was an instrument off in the tuning, and how impressed he was that she found it.

 

Luke tapped her on the shoulder and led her away. “I have a surprise for you.”

 

“For me?” Rey grinned and stopped dead when she saw tiny little Maz sitting next to Leia at the bar. She turned to Luke. “I told you. You can’t make me cry.”

 

Maz jumped off the stool and moved to her with open arms. “Sweet child.” Rey bent and hugged her, remembering her perfume and her strong arms. “I’m so very proud of you.”

 

And Rey couldn’t help but cry.

 

She visited with Maz for the next thirty minutes, laughing with her and listening to stories she’d heard millions of times.

 

Maz’s eyes darkened and narrowed. “There he is. The beast.” Rey turned and found Kylo Ren moving through the crowd. She was surprised to see Hux at his side.

 

She turned back to Maz. “You don’t like him much either?”

 

“No.” She scowled. “Not since he destroyed one of my rehearsal rooms.”

 

Rey stared at her. “At the shop?”

 

Maz nodded, downed her gin, and hopped off the stool. “Years ago. He was young. Doesn’t mean I don’t want to yell at him again. Excuse me.”

 

Rey watched her waddle away. She stared down into her champagne glass.

 

Was Ben Solo one of the violinists she used to listen to through the thick doors of Maz’s studio? She’d sit with her back against the wall, listening to the lessons and private recordings in the rehearsal rooms, waiting for Maz to work with customers and pull down the violin. Squeaky, eventually.

 

She turned to ask Leia, and found her deep in conversation with Amilyn. Rey shook her head clear. She was missing the point. He had wrecked a rehearsal studio. She didn’t know why, and she didn’t know how badly, but the rest shouldn’t matter to her.

 

She’d fallen in love with his music when she was twenty. It would be only a coincidence if she’d also fallen at eleven. If perhaps he was the reason she ached to hear more, ached to play it herself.

 

Rey felt that same pull again. Like the string between them was pulled too tight, too sharp. She slipped off the stool and moved to the restroom. She pushed open the door, ignoring the memory of the last time she was in this bathroom.

 

She marched to the sink, placing her glass down on the porcelain counter. What she really wanted to do was splash cold water on her face. That’s what people did, right? When they were overheated or needed a moment? But she was at a fancy party, and as she said to Luke, she had no confidence in the waterproof-ness of her mascara.

 

She was just reaching for a paper towel to wet and dab her face with when a stall door opened.

 

A short, dark-haired girl stopped when she saw Rey in the mirror, and then smiled quickly before joining her a few sinks down.

 

Rey ran the cold water, flipping her finger through the stream, waiting for a punishing cold that never came.

 

“So… that guy is with someone else tonight?”

 

Rey frowned at the sink, and looked over at the girl. Very familiar.

 

“I’m sorry?”

 

“Right, sorry,” she said, turning off the tap. “I’m Rose. I’m the one who… walked in on you guys last spring.”

 

Rey blinked at her. That sounded very incriminating, and she had no idea—

 

Oh.

 

Rey nodded. “Do you… haunt this bathroom?”

 

Rose smiled. “I live here, actually. Last stall on the left is mine.”

 

Rey snorted, grinning down at the sink.

 

“Actually, my sister is dating Byron. On trumpet.”

 

“Oh!” Rey smiled. “Yeah, yeah. Byron is great. Really nice.”

 

“Is he?” Rose grimaced.

 

“No,” Rey said. “Not really.”

 

They laughed, and Rose said, “Paige—that’s my sister—takes me to every concert.” She beamed and blurted, “You’re awesome by the way. I was there the night Skywalker had you play solo. Oh, my god. So beautiful.” Rose grinned. “I mean, I know nothing about music really. Like, I sing karaoke on Thursday nights but—“

“Thank you,” Rey said. She felt like if she didn’t interrupt, Rose would go on forever. “Yeah, it was... unexpected.” Rey pressed her lips together, unable to stop herself. “So, who has a date?”

 

“The cello player. The famous one. The one you were about to—“

 

“Kylo Ren, yeah.” Rey looked down. “I, uh... we weren’t— I mean, we didn’t...”

 

Rose’s eyes glittered at her, hanging on her every word. “You totally should have while you had your chance! Now there’s a foxy model on his arm— oh, god— not that you aren’t foxy. Or model-material. I just mean—“

 

“No, no,” Rey said. “I get it. Don’t worry.” She grabbed her glass from the sink and downed it. 

 

Baz was here. 

 

“Anyway. Cool running into you. Again,” Rose chirped, tucking her clutch under her arm. “Hey, maybe they’re not serious. Maybe she’ll, like… die in a fire or something.”

 

As Rose reached for the door, it swung open. Baz walked in, staring down at her phone.

 

“Oh, sorry,” she said to Rose, an afterthought to the girl she’d hit with a door.

 

Rey stared at her in the mirror as she approached, a silver dress dripping off her hips, and her black hair down around her shoulders, curling in ways Rey’s hair never could.

 

Rose looked back and forth between the two of them, like she wanted nothing more in her entire life than to stay for this, but she slowly crept out.

 

Rey watched as Baz came to the sink next to hers, smiling down at her phone before reaching into her clutch for several makeup tubes. Rey was just about to dry her fingers and leave when Baz looked at her in the mirror, and Rey froze.

 

Baz’s grey eyes slid over her and she barked, “What?”

 

Rey jumped. “Sorry.” She grabbed her empty glass and turned to go, her cheeks flushing.

 

“Hey, do I know you?”

 

She bit her lip and turned to see Baz squinting at her, twisting the cap off a lip gloss.

 

“I’m in the orchestra – the Pops,” Rey squeaked. Best not to mention the wedding.

 

“Oh, cool. I’m Baz. I’m friends with Ben. The cello player.”

 

Friends with Ben.

 

Well, either way, that was still more than Rey was – according to him.

 

“Did you like the concert?” Rey asked, kicking herself for continuing this conversation.

 

“Yeah, it was great.” She smacked her lips in the mirror. “What instrument do you play?” she asked, lacking curiosity.

 

“Violin.”

 

“Cool.”

 

Rey nodded, and waited to be dismissed. “Do you… do you play an instrument?”

 

“No,” she snorted. “I took piano lessons when I was eight, but I hated it.”

 

Rey stared at her, hating the way her hair swung when she flipped it over her shoulder, the way her cleavage just poured out of her dress. And mostly hating that she had no appreciation for music. No appreciation for Ben’s artistry or style, no idea how talented he was.

 

“Well, it was great meeting you,” Rey said.

 

“Yeah, you too.” Baz mumbled as she reapplied mascara. Probably the waterproof kind.

 

Rey threw open the door and escaped. She stumbled her way to the bar and asked for her last glass of champagne. Just one more before she called a cab. She paid the $14, open bar now closed, and took a sweep of the room to find Luke and Leia. Even fucking Diane would be a relief right about now.

 

She spotted Hux standing with the bride and groom from the wedding, Gwen and Dopheld. It seemed like he brought an entire entourage tonight. She veered the other direction, and saw Maz still poking Kylo Ren in the chest. She came up to his ribs, so this was difficult to accomplish.

 

His eyes met hers for a brief second.

 

She’d mentioned Maz’s Music Shop today in the interview. And now here Maz was.

 

She heard a faint roar of “Look at me when I’m scolding you!” from the small woman, and Ben’s eyes dropped back to Maz.

 

Kylo Ren’s eyes, actually.

 

He’d asked her not to be so friendly.

 

Rey sipped at her glass, and just before she moved to the corner of the room that Dr. Holdo and Leia had migrated to, his eyes found her again.

 

She looked away, and spent the next hour letting Leia parade her around. When her champagne glass was almost empty, she said her goodbyes, promising Maz that she’d visit.

 

She exited into the humid wind, and pulled out her phone to see if Lyft would be cheaper than a taxi.

 

“It’s after 1AM.” A voice from the door behind her. She turned to find Kylo Ren, leaning on the door frame, scotch glass in hand. “Taking a cab?”

 

She stared at him. “I’m calling a Lyft.”

 

“Good.” He sipped. “Wouldn’t want to disappoint Finn.” He hit the consonants in a strange cacophony, a mocking tone.

 

He was drunk.

 

And following her.

 

She swallowed, and returned to her phone to confirm the ride. She heard a glass rattle and saw him placing his empty scotch glass on the steps, straightening to come down the steps and join her at the curb.

 

“Why did you change the ending?” she asked, sticking to safe topics. Music. She stared at an electronic billboard across the street advertising $10 I Heart NY shirts.

 

“Felt right,” he said, swaying next to her. She looked up at him. “’S what it feels like. Every time.”

 

His eyes were on her lips. He swallowed, looking away, down at the curb.

 

How silly of her. Music was _never_ a safe topic between them.

 

“How what feels like?” she whispered, watching his eyes come back to her, darkening.

 

Something cruel passed through his gaze and his lips twitched. “Does Finn know that you like to go to strangers' apartments and let them finger you?”

 

Her blood chilled, and her breath left her. She stared at him as he smirked at her. She’d never been mocked for her choices regarding sex. She hardly had any _to_ mock. It stung in a different way than the other kinds of insults she’d faced in her life.

 

But something stuck out to her. This fascination with Finn.

 

She blinked, eyes widening. “Finn is my roommate,” she said. “He’s gay.”

 

The smirk dripped off his lips, his eyes roving her face, drinking in her skin.

 

She frowned at him. “I’m not… I don’t really like what you were implying there. That’s not… That wasn’t fair.” She turned back to her phone. Ramji was four minutes away.

 

“I’m sorry,” whispered to her. “Rey, I’m sorry. I – Fuck.” She saw his hand move to touch her and pull back sharply.

 

“That’s not why I came over. So—“

 

“No, of course not. I’m the one…” She heard him huff and the ruffle of his hand through his hair. “I instigated.” He reached for her again and stopped. She kept her eyes down on the map of Ramji’s progress. “Why _did_ you come over?”

 

She paused, hearing her blood rushing in her ears. “I wanted to play electric violin.” She chuckled, knowing that was only half of it.

 

She felt him move toward her, crowd her, steal her air.

 

“You never got to.” He breathed against her ear. “We could go. Now. Back to the apartment and you—“

 

“No. Thank you though.”

 

“I won’t touch you, I _swear_.” He panted against her skin, and she felt the heat spreading through her. She pressed her lips together to keep from saying yes. She stared down at her phone, her heartbeat pounding as she watched the image of the car come closer to them.

 

“Rey.”

 

She looked up at him, and his eyes stirred in her that feeling, that emotion that danced through her when he played tonight. The feeling of being incomplete, just inches from the tonic. The peace.

 

His lips twitched upwards, a small chuckle. “We could get tacos,” he said, smiling, and staring down at her, drifting over her like water.

 

She took a deep breath. And the scent of alcohol on his breath solidified it for her.

 

“You’re drunk. And your friends are inside.”

 

“I don’t care about them—“

 

“ _Baz_ is inside,” she hissed, harsher than before.

 

His eyes slid back and forth between hers, searching. “That means nothing to me.”

 

Rey blinked, thinking of Baz’s absence from his Instagram, the lack of feminine touches in his apartment, the words _I’m friends with Ben._

 

But that wasn’t the issue. The issue was Ramji in his black Toyota. The issue was how badly she wanted him to join her inside, and come uptown with her. The issue was that playing electric violin at his apartment at one in the morning would be explosive – whether or not he had neighbors. That she didn’t trust either of them to keep their distance. And the issue was his coldness, his aloof interactions with her, his slut-shaming and compulsive closeness to her.

 

And how badly he wanted to touch her, despite promising not to.

 

“I can’t,” she said. And she felt the string wobble, tugging both of them into a frequency that was just unbearable. She saw it on his face. A rejection harsher than the first, or second, or third, or however many they were up to now. And that’s why she said, “Not tonight.”

 

Peace.

 

The tonic.

 

His face relaxed, eyes wandering over her, lips parting.

 

A black Toyota pulled up.

 

“Go back to your friends,” she said with a small smile. And because she was so, so stupid, she placed a light hand on his chest, tilting up in her heels and turning her lips to his cheek, whispering, “Good night, Ben,” before pressing her lips to his skin. She felt him follow her down, turning his head to try to catch her, hands raised to grab her and stopping.

 

She pulled away, not looking back at him as she slipped into the Toyota.

 

She could feel her pulse in her lips, ignoring the small talk Ramji tried to make with her.

 

She fell asleep the moment her jumpsuit and heels were off and her head hit the pillow, and woke up the next morning to a picture of her watching Kylo Ren play “Fugue No. 1, Unaccompanied.”

 

No mention of Ben Solo. And not a word about Rey Johnson’s tragic parentless backstory.


	7. A Bank of Violets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am BLOWN AWAY by the response to this story.  
> You can find me on Tumblr and Twitter as LovesBitca8. I'm very active on both so come say hi!  
> A huge thanks to Mh Calamas for the mood board for this chapter. And check out the board by KyloTrashForever!  
> https://twitter.com/KTF_Reylo/status/1124136236665507840

 

She had a week to cool off.

 

A week to focus on the next concert. A week to spend time with Finn and Poe and concentrate on being young in the city.

 

And then on Thursday the Knights of Ren posted a #throwbackthursday on their Instagram. One of their bassists and Kylo Ren having a push-up competition from two years ago. They were shirtless, for reasons Rey could not even fathom. She was even able to ignore Baz’s annoying shrieking in the background counting, “Eighty-eight! Eighty-nine!”

 

The bassist flopped to the ground at ninety, but Kylo pushed through to one-hundred-and-two, standing quickly, panting and pushing his hair back, collecting twenty dollars and smiling, bumping shoulders with one of the violinists.

 

Rey had closed her app. Picked up her pencil. Twirled it for fourteen minutes. Watched the video again. And then dug through her emails to find the orchestra roster with everyone’s contact addresses, thumb hovering over the gmail address next to “Kylo Ren - First Cello.”

 

She turned her phone off and went for a walk.

 

On Saturday before bed, she lay twisted up in a blanket scrolling through Instagram. She was in a deep dive, watching Kylo Ren’s videos from 2017 when he’d just bought Ruby. 

 

She listened to him show off, playing his new cello. She scrolled back to rewartch one and tried to turn the sound on. 

 

She tapped twice. 

 

She gasped, shooting up in bed as a red heart exploded over the video. 

 

“No, no, no, no!”

 

@ReyofSunshine just liked @Kylo_Ren’s video. 

 

She quickly untapped, heart disappearing.

 

He’d still get the notification, but hopefully his 200,000 followers had been too much to handle and he’d turned them off. 

 

“Fuck.” She ran her hand over her face. 

 

Liking a video he posted last week would be one thing. It implied that she had just found his account. 

 

Liking a video from 2017 implied that she was twenty-minutes into some Grade A Instagram stalking. 

 

Rey groaned and pushed her face into her pillow.

 

She woke up the next morning to one new follower:

 

@Kylo_Ren

 

~*~ 

 

Monday’s rehearsal snuck up on her. Very abruptly it was time to decide what to wear, how to act, how much makeup – or _no_ makeup.

 

Because nothing was different.

 

She’d kissed his _cheek_ for fuck’s sake.

 

Rey pressed her lips together, savoring the memory. And then she jumped, pulling her phone to check the camera for the rose-colored lipstick she’d applied.

 

And unapplied, and reapplied.

 

She’d decided on simple makeup with lipstick; hair up, but messy.

 

Like the lipstick was an afterthought. Like, _no big deal_ , it’s just lipstick, you know? Everybody just chill.

 

She’d added a selfie to her story this morning, feeling the sudden urge to post more pics to her Instagram, especially after the rampage she’d gone on Sunday morning, deleting all pictures of funny faces or hideous prom dresses that she and Finn had shopped for three years ago.

 

She looked up, checking her stop on the subway display. The doors opened and she moved through the Monday morning rush hour until she finally emerged into a cool autumn day. The walk from the subway rejuvenated her, setting a rhythm back in her body as she swerved through the tourists and execs.

 

She tugged open the door to the rehearsal room, and choked on her air when she saw Ben already there, laughing with one of the other cellists. Twenty minutes early.

 

He didn’t look over at her. In fact, his back was to the door, his cello case propped open and his sheet music ready.

 

She scurried to her chair, waving hello to a few piccolos, and dropping her bag in front of her stand, laying her violin case down. It was only then that she noticed the cup.

 

An iced latte sat next to her chair legs, sweating onto the floor. Scratched in Sharpie on the side of the cup was the name “Ray.”

 

She blinked down at it, still bent over from opening her case.

 

He laughed at something in his conversation, and the sound rattled her ribs.

 

She picked up the cup, a wrapped straw placed next to it. A “V” decorated the label, meaning…

 

An iced vanilla latte. Her exact order from the café where they’d had their interview last week.

 

Rey sat in her chair, looking around for gossips and nosey neighbors as she punctured the lid and sipped. She stared at his back, enjoying the dark green Henley he’d chosen today, and sipping merrily at her latte.

 

More orchestra members filed in as the clock ticked closer to ten, but still he focused only on his conversation. Something about CrossFit or Whole 30 or some other bullshit Rey was in no way ready to commit to.

 

He never looked at her once.

 

When Luke finally called the beginning of rehearsal, and everyone took their seats, Rey was twitching in her chair. But that was possibly the espresso she’d just gobbled down.

 

She took one last sip from her latte before setting it back to the ground. He dropped into his chair, pushed his hair away from his face, and as he bent to grab his cello, his eyes slid up to her through his waves.

 

Her lips pulled tight around the straw as her gaze locked on him. He smirked and turned to give his full attention to Luke.

 

~*~

 

On Tuesday, he approached her at the snacks table.

 

He hadn’t spoken to her during Monday’s rehearsal, leaving her alone during breaks and keeping his eyes off of her for most of the day.

 

Rey was itchy. She jumped at the slightest movement of his body across from her, not having the espresso to blame this time. So, at their first ten-minute break of the day, she rose from her chair and went in search of a packet of chamomile tea.

 

“Good morning.”

 

The teabag flew from her fingers, jerking through the air and hitting a broad chest next to her.

 

It flopped to the table and Rey snatched it up. “Sorry. Yes, good morning. Hi.”

 

He said nothing else as she dropped it into the cup of hot water. They watched it steep. Then—

 

“Calming blend.”

 

Her eyes scanned to the label on the tea packet. “Uh-huh. I need to… decaffeinate today.” She bit her lip. “Oh… I mean”—she looked up at him—“coffee is wonderful though. Um, especially lattes.” His eyes darkened and danced over her face. “I really, really like iced vanilla lattes. So, um…”

 

“Hm. That’s what you were drinking yesterday, yeah?” A smile tugging at his lips.

 

“Yes. I… I was very grateful to have it.” She swallowed and watched him reach for a styrofoam cup. “It was perfect. For a Monday.”

 

“But Tuesdays are for tea,” he said, nodding at her cup.

 

“I guess so.”

 

He poured coffee into his cup, turned to face her, and said, “What are Wednesdays for?”

 

She looked up at him as he gave her his entire focus.

 

She reached for her cup for something to hold onto and her fingers overshot, knocking it, hot chamomile tea spilling over the cookies and down onto the floor.

 

She jumped back, apologizing, grabbing for napkins, and spending the rest of the break helping the rehearsal assistant clean up as her face burned.

 

~*~

 

It went like that for the next few weeks. She was hyperaware of every little thing he did, while he seemed to have mellowed considerably.

 

Like he’d been drowning, and had finally found air.

 

She wondered if it was her turn to drown.

 

The next concert was a few weeks before Halloween. The theme was Disney Villains – a direct ploy for more ticket sales – and she had her first violin solo at the New York Pops in “Friends on the Other Side.”

 

Her article in the orchestral magazine came out the week before, and Leia let her know that ticket sales had spiked just after.

 

“Kylo, have you decided on your solo for the October concert?” Luke asked.

 

Rey looked to him. He narrowed his eyes at Luke, pressing his lips together. She had a feeling that this was not the first time Luke had asked him this question, but now he had done it in front of everyone for an answer.

 

“I’ll be playing from the same series. I’ll get you the title by the end of the day.”

 

His eyes slid over to her.

 

The same series. Maybe he’d written "Fugue No. 2." Rey blinked at him and looked down. Something felt off. Some kind of disappointment twisted in her, knowing that a new piece existed, but she hadn’t heard it yet.

 

But that was ridiculous. She didn’t have ownership of this series. She hadn’t even written it.

 

At the end of rehearsal, she packed up her belongings and tucked Squeaky away into his case.

 

“So,” a voice from next to her, and she looked up his tall frame to find him staring down at his shoes. “I didn’t know if you were super passionate about all late night TV, or just SNL”—he smirked—“but I thought I should tell you that I have Jimmy Fallon tomorrow night.”

 

She flushed. “Jimmy Fallon? Like, the Knights of Ren are the musical guest?”

 

He nodded, watching her. “I thought I should tell you in advance. Because you were so angry the last time.”

 

She pressed her lips together, biting back a smile. “Are you planning to be on time to this one?”

 

He smiled. “I’ll do my best.”

 

She pulled her tote bag onto her shoulder, and grinned at the floor. “Well, thank you for letting me know. I feel very passionate about all late night TV.” She moved toward the exit, waving goodbye to Luke and few stragglers.

 

“Noted,” he said, rumbling behind her. “What, uh... what are you doing now?”

 

Rey blinked up at him as he pushed the door open for her. The sunlight hit her and she squinted. “I, um… I’m headed uptown. Home.”

 

He nodded, slipping his glasses on. “Okay, well—“

 

“Kylo!”

 

Rey turned her head to find a group of five or six teenagers. They jumped and squealed, skipping over to them. A flurry of activity.

 

“Oh, my god!”

 

“Hi!”

 

“You’re  _amazing_  —“

 

“I’ve been playing cello since—“

 

“—saw the Knights of Ren on SNL—“

 

“And I drove all the way to Virginia to see the show!”

 

“—love you so much!”

 

Rey stumbled back as a cute little gay boy – who reminded her an awful lot of Poe – shoved her shoulder in his rush to swarm Kylo Ren. 

 

“Hey, guys. Thanks,” he said.

 

She watched as Ben pulled a sharpie from nowhere and started signing things. 

 

A small blonde girl rambled, “I wanted to play cello so bad, but my mom made me take trumpet, and I begged her to sign me up for cello and she said maybe after I’d played trumpet for five years, and I’ve been playing for four years and ten months, and I’m saving up to buy a cello so she can’t say no, and I’ve been practicing a lot in the school practice rooms.”

 

“That’s awesome,” Ben said, taking the girl’s phone to take the selfie for her. “Yeah, don’t listen to your mom. She only wants what’s best for you. And where’s the fun in that.”

 

The gay boy cackled like a hyena. 

 

“I’m a freshman at Julliard,” a small Asian girl said softly. 

 

“Hey, I went there,” Ben teased. 

 

“I know,” she whispered as he signed a program from a concert back in 2017. Rey recognized the cover. 

 

Rey recognized the cover because Rey  _was_ these kids. 

 

She had downloaded the albums. She’d memorized the violin solos. She’d followed the Instagram. She was sure if she had friends like these, she would have found where the NY Pops rehearsed and waited outside with them. 

 

Rey watched them giggling and talking with him and sweating and grinning. 

 

If she hadn’t met him in the rehearsal room first two years ago, she would possibly be here. 

 

She thought they had been teenagers, but they were closer to her age than she thought. 

 

She swallowed. And looked down the street. She wondered if he ever thought of her as a child. Like them. Flipping through his Instagram and liking posts from years ago. Spilling drinks all over herself and stuttering whenever he spoke to her.

 

“I’ll, um”—she brushed her hair over her ear—“I’ll see you later. Kylo.”

 

His eyes snapped to her over the head of one of them. She smiled and waved goodbye, walking with her head down all the way to her subway stop.

 

He wasn’t at rehearsal the next day due to the Fallon taping. Luke had the second cello take his chair and lead rehearsal.

 

Rey was surprised how different it felt.

 

~*~

 

She spent the week before the concert focusing. But in order to do that, she needed to take imaginary phone calls at breaks and return to her habit of running to the bathroom.

 

He never followed her, but his eyes tracked her as she left every time.

 

She told herself it was best to keep a bit of distance, just to give herself some space.

 

Leia had helped her pick out a black velvet dress that dropped to the tops of her knees.

 

“This is too short, isn’t it?” Rey had asked as she exited the changing room.

 

“You’re too young and beautiful to be dressing like a violinist, Rey.” Leia tapped away at her phone, and Rey laughed.

 

She’d talked her into a bold red lipstick to match. So, after choosing one of the best shades at Rite Aid, Rey rushed to Carnegie Hall to change and get ready.

 

The feeling of being introduced to a huge crowd was the same as before. She moved onto the stage, waving and smiling. She took a bow.

 

The concert went according to plan. Ben even kept his eyes to himself for the most part.

 

Right before the end of act one, Luke picked up the microphone, ready to introduce Kylo Ren’s cello solo.

 

He’d decided to play “Fugue No. 1” again. He’d announced on Monday, that he’d made edits and rearrangements, which had thrown Rey off for the rest of the day.

 

She took a deep breath, preparing herself for the melody. Preparing herself for the ending again.

 

She looked up at him. He’d been so much lighter. So much more at peace these last few weeks. She wondered if he would resolve the chord this time. If the edits he’d made would contrast the energy of the last time.

 

He stared at her.

 

Rey drank him in for a moment, letting him stare at her. He should be turning his chair forward, and resetting for his solo, but he seemed quite focused on her. She turned her attention back to Luke, introducing “Fugue No. 1.” Luke was just wrapping up his praises for the talent of his secret nephew when Mary, who was Second Chair and responsible for turning the pages for both her and Rey, tapped her knee.

 

“Rey, is this right?”

 

Rey looked down at the binder. Mary flipped the page again, and instead of the medley that closed out act one, an untitled sheet of music lay tucked into the three-ring binder. Mary turned the page to show Rey that the Disney songs were behind it.

 

Rey turned back to the strange page as the audience applauded for Kylo Ren’s solo. She ran her eyes across the staves, reading the notes and the progressions as he picked up his bow.

 

She looked up at him, and he stared at her, still facing her. Not turned out to the audience. Intent on her. The bow slid across the cello strings, the familiar aggravated arpeggios beginning to burn.

 

This was… Was this…?

 

The sheet music was for violin. Sixteen bars of rest before the first violin notes were played. The same length as the arpeggio section. Long legato notes that synced and harmonized and counterpointed perfectly to the second section in “Fugue No. 1, Unaccompanied.”

 

But… accompanied. By her.

 

She blinked up at him, heart racing at the possibility of  _sight-reading_  something in front of 3,000 people and all of Carnegie Hall. His eyes burned against her skin as he skipped and danced through the first section. 

 

This was insane. This was absolutely—

 

The end of the arpeggios. Two bars to decide. 

 

She scanned page, finding accidentals and triplets and staccatos. But she knew this song. She knew it in her blood. 

 

And he wanted her to play it with him.

 

Her eyes met his again. And there was a pleading there. And despite how insane this was, how... how rude, really, Rey knew this was it. This was the culmination. 

 

She looked down at the page with one bar to spare. And where the stave was usually named “soloist” or “violin” or “voice,” he’d typed one word. 

_Squeaky_.

 

She lifted her bow, and as he slithered out of the arpeggios and into the calm, she carried him through. 

 

She felt Mary gasp. Felt Luke look at her. Felt all of Carnegie Hall murmur. 

 

But she ignored them all. 

 

Ben Solo had asked her to dance. 

 

She soared above him as he pulled low and dark, tethering her to the key. And all at once they fit together. A harmony in easy tempos, matching phrases and answering each other’s questions. Just before they dropped into the storm, the agitation, she looked up at him for the first time. 

 

His eyes on her fingers. His lips parted. And a flush staining his skin, spreading. 

 

She took a breath before the next section fell over them. He met her eyes. And they spun. 

 

Quick sixteenths from the cello as she dropped into the quarter note rhythm. And then they switched. And then together again. 

 

Her eyes flew over the page, preparing and pushing forward. 

 

The fingerpicking. But the violin stayed on the bow, responding and singing back. She would rest, and then pull short melodies over top of him. 

 

Like breathing in, and then sighing out. 

 

There was a strange accidental, something completely out of key, and Rey was certain she’d played it wrong. A long held note that sounded so wrong. 

 

And then he flipped the bow around his fingers, pulling against the strings again, and suddenly it fit together again. 

 

Like she’d been drifting off without him, and he found her again. 

 

A flurry of notes across the last bars. Her wide eyes devoured the page, translating to her fingers, barely listening to his melody, but knowing somehow that it worked. 

 

That they worked. 

 

The build to the end, buzzing with tight thirds, and humming a battle to see who finished first. 

 

Her bow skidded off the strings, the violin section ending just moments before his. She lifted her eyes from the page and watched him finish. 

 

He looked at her. 

 

And they hung there, breathing, waiting. 

 

The peace he’d lost in the edits. The place where the tonic was supposed to be. 

 

Her breath puffed from her lips. He watched her, waiting. 

 

She raised her bow, eyes on him, the page useless to her as she dragged the unwritten tonic across the strings. 

 

He smiled, letting her vibrate through Carnegie Hall alone. 

 

And just before she lifted the bow to cut the sound, he plucked a string. Like a book dropping closed at the end of the last chapter. 

 

Her blood rushed in her ears. A dull thudding in her chest. A spinning, throbbing in her body. A need...

 

But only an echo of what sang to her from across the stage. 

 

He wet his lips. And she swallowed. 

 

He was the first to look away. And she watched him grin to something on his left. 

 

She turned and found the steady wave of Carnegie Hall coming to its feet. 

 

And she had to close her eyes against the explosion of sound as she came back to herself. A tidal wave drowning her momentarily, before she acclimated and smiled. 

 

The balconies drifting to their feet, the teenagers popping up in their chairs, bouncing and screaming. 

 

Just as she realized how foolish she looked sitting her chair with 3,000 people doing the opposite, Ben stood, holding his Stradivarius in his left and reaching for her with the other. 

 

She pulled herself onto shaking legs and met him in the middle, slipping her fingers against his palm until he grasped her, and guided her forward, presenting her to the audience. 

 

She laughed and inclined her head, nodding to each tier. 

 

When she returned to her seat, she looked up to where Luke stood at the podium, clapping. She didn’t recognize the expression behind his eyes. There was pride, yes. But something else. 

 

Something cautious.

 

He smiled at her, expression erasing in an instant. Luke picked up the mic. 

 

“Marvelous. What an extraordinary composition.” 

 

Rey turned her attention to the Disney Villains medley, and only as the adrenaline leaked out of her did she realize how ridiculous that was. 

 

She could have made a fool of herself in front of all of Carnegie Hall. 

 

He should have asked her about it beforehand. She should not have _sight read_ during a concert. 

 

She lifted the violin to her chin as the guest singers returned to the stage, jumping into “This Is Halloween.” 

 

The final notes of "Hellfire," and she could feel his eyes on her, burning her skin. 

 

The audience applauded. The singers bowed. 

 

And as soon as Luke descended from the podium, she shot up, violin placed down on her chair, and taking his arm as he escorted her offstage behind the singers. 

 

The doors closed behind them. 

 

“Well, that was—“

 

But she was already gone, clicking down to the hall to the bathrooms. She knew she had a matter of seconds. 

 

And as she turned the corner she heard, “Hey, give her some space — Hey!” And then sterner. “Ben!”

 

There was a handicap and family restroom across from the men’s. There was a deadbolt on that one. 

 

She needed to think. She needed to breathe without his eyes on her. She needed just a moment in her life without his song humming through her blood, his voice at her ear, his fingers ghosting over her skin. 

 

The squeak of dress shoes turning the corner behind her. And she ran. 

 

She shoved her shoulder into the door, spinning to press it closed. 

 

His arm shot through, and then he was inside. 

 

“Don’t—“

 

“Extraordinary. Absolutely—fucking gorgeous—“

 

“Can’t believe you did that—“

 

“—something so beautiful—“

 

“I could have embarrassed myself in front of—“

 

“—like we were  _made_ for each other, Rey.”

 

Something choked her. Some long pushed aside desire to belong to someone. 

 

She watched him pace, running his hand through his hair, smiling and babbling about their future and what they could be together. About coming on tour with him. About collaborating on new pieces and introducing her to the rest of the band and photoshoots and venues. 

 

And his fingers tightened whenever his feet brought him within inches of her. His eyes would drop to her throat or her lips or her chest and then he’d pace away, smiling about different arrangements he’d like recorded. With her. 

 

He paced back to her. “Just hear me out, alright? Let me”—he gasped for air—“Let me get my thoughts together. At least please”—he appeared in front of her, hands raising to touch her and then pressing firmly against the door behind her—“ _please_ consider recording with me. Just that song. Just for now. Please.” He lifted his hands, fingers stretching to rest on her cheeks before dropping away again. “Fuck, you’re incredible. Fucking—“

 

She rose up in her heels and kissed him. Swallowing his curses, drinking his praise down to a place that had run dry years ago. 

 

_Made for each other._

 

She thought she’d found that with her foster family at nine. And then she’d been transferred. She’d thought she and Finn could belong to one another, but then he’d found Poe. She’d thought Luke could be that person for her, but time and time again she was reminded that he was not her family. 

 

His lips were soft. Open and still above hers as she pressed herself close. 

 

Someone who belonged to her. 

 

And then he slammed into her, like a car crash, side-swiping her with his arms, crushing her bones with his frame, and puncturing her lungs with his lips and tongue and teeth. 

 

She gasped. And he slid his hands around her back, pressing her body close against his as he pushed her into the door, licking at her, rocking into her. 

 

He groaned into her mouth, twisting his tongue to map her. 

 

“Fuck,” he wheezed, titling his head to connect with her again. 

 

Her hands on his shoulders, just grasping him as his mouth turned her incoherent. 

 

Selfish and destructive. 

 

That’s exactly what this was, and she didn’t care. 

 

His teeth nipped her, running down her jaw, and sucking at the places on her neck he’d already become acquainted with. His breath was hot on her skin, heaving air before diving back to her throat. 

 

She ran her hands up to his neck, sliding into his hair, holding his head to her. His teeth grazed her skin, and when she moaned and tugged at his hair, his hips snapped forward, slamming against her and pressing her into the door. He was hard in his tuxedo pants. 

 

“Sorry,” he gasped, but she couldn’t understand what it was he was apologizing for. 

 

His hands slid down, gently, slowly, cupping her backside as he laved her neck. He whispered to her, “Is this okay?”

 

She groaned, nodding against his cheek. Dragging his face back to hers, she barely registered his red lips before he dove into her mouth again, his fingers starting to knead into her backside, squeezing and pulling her close. 

 

His tongue spun delicious melodies into her, sucking the breath from her lungs until her head floated away from her body.

 

He pushed his hips into hers, digging his fingers into her backside, and she gasped at the feel of him against her stomach. A slow rolling pressure, blossoming from where he connected them surging through her veins.

 

A sharp knock behind her head. “Five minutes until top of Act Two!”

 

His lips paused on hers. Her heart drummed. She listened to the footsteps trot down the hall. 

 

And the room spun back towards her. They were in the middle of a concert. At Carnegie Hall. And Kylo Ren’s hands were on her ass. 

 

“Oh my god,” she whispered. 

 

He jumped, moving his hands to her face, holding her jaw. “Don’t run—“

 

“Oh my  _god_ —“

 

“Just talk to me about this—“

 

“Oh my—“

 

“Rey—“

 

“You have my lipstick on your face,” she said, staring in horror at the red smudges on his lips. “Oh my god.”

 

She batted his hands away and ran for the sink, gasping when she saw the state of herself. Her hair was falling out of its pins even though she didn’t remember his hands there. Her dress mussed and her face flushed. But worst of all, she looked like she’d been making out with Kylo Ren. 

 

“Oh my god.”

 

“What does this mean, Rey?” she heard from the door. “What does this— what do you want this to mean?” 

 

She looked at him in the mirror. He leaned one hand on the door, bracing himself, but maybe also keeping her here. 

 

“I... I can’t think. I need to focus—“

 

“We have five minutes. We’ll be fine—“

 

“Fix your face!” she hissed at him, pressing pins back into her hair. 

 

He moved to the sinks, cautious and slow, but didn’t turn to the mirror. He stood watching her. 

 

She huffed and grabbed for a few paper towels, wetting them and turning to rub his face with them. He frowned and took them from her. She grabbed more for herself. 

 

“Last time I wasn’t clear, I don’t think,” he whispered, and she focused on the rose-colored smudges around her lips. “I want you. In every way.” She swallowed, and watched her throat move. “I want to see you. And fuck you. And play music with you.”

 

She dabbed her lips manically, the color already removed. She could feel her pulse in her face. His fingers touched lightly on her waist and turned her away from the mirror, her back to the sink and her face to his. 

 

“Tell me you want even  _one_  of those things.” His lips twitched, and she stared up at him. 

 

His brown eyes flickered between hers, a light amber color. And really, what was the point of lying to him now. After she’d thrown herself at him.

 

“A few of ‘em, yeah.”

 

His eyes drank her in, fluttering over her face and drawing a smile from his lips. She held her breath as he dropped his lips to hers again. 

 

“No, don’t.” She stopped him just an inch from her mouth. “The lipstick.”

 

He hovered, smirking as he aimed for her jaw. “Here?” he offered. 

 

Rey swallowed, and when she didn’t stop him, he pressed his lips to her skin, sending shivers through her. His hands stayed delicately on her hips.

 

“Here?” he whispered against her neck, just below her ear.

 

She nodded, blushing at the game he played. His lips pressed, parting on her skin and leaving wet kisses along her throat, sucking and nipping and curling her toes in her stockings. 

 

Her hands rose, bracing herself on his stomach. He gasped against her neck, and sucked another bruise into her skin. 

 

Her eyes drifted closed, and his mouth drifted down to her clavicle. “Here?”

 

She smiled, and he kissed her, dropping light kisses across her sternum until he pressed against the top of her breasts. 

 

“Here?” mumbled into her chest. 

 

Her breath came quick, pressing her skin to his lips with every inhale. 

 

She blinked down at him, his legs bending to bring his lips to her breasts. A small press of his fingers into her hips. 

 

“Yes,” she breathed. 

 

His eyes locked on hers as he dragged his lips across the skin at the top of her dress, and she couldn’t look away as he pressed his mouth to her sternum, landing between her breasts. 

 

Her very small breasts that looked absolutely minuscule next to his thick lips and long hair and large head. 

 

Rey felt like apologizing or something ridiculous like that. But then his giant head lowered and he pressed a light kiss to her breast over her dress. 

 

Her eyes drifted closed and her nipples tightened. Her thighs pressed together. His mouth swept over to her other breast, and maybe that was his teeth, nipping at her. 

 

Her hands dropped to his shoulders as one of her knees buckled. She pressed her lips together, holding back a moan as he dragged his mouth over her ribs, hands on her hips squeezing. 

 

It was like fingers sweeping over her stomach, teasing and promising. But knowing it was his mouth... His lips worshipping her through her velvet dress...

 

“Here?”

 

Her eyes fluttered open. He was on his knees, holding her hips in his large hands, looking up at her. His mouth hovered, lips whispering against the front of her. The center of her. 

 

His eyes were black, and he breathed evenly, calmly. She felt it warm against her hip. 

 

On his knees. In a tuxedo. In a public bathroom. 

 

“Rey,” he whispered. “Here?”

 

Like he was begging for permission. Like if she said yes, her dress would disappear and she’d be lifted onto the sink. 

 

He stared at her, stirring her, and lowered his lips to press against her hipbone. 

 

Sharp knocking. 

 

“Places for Act Two!”

 

She jumped. His hands steadied her hips. And just before she fully emerged from her haze, he dropped a kiss to her stomach, below her bellybutton, just _inches_ from where he needed to be. He stood, and even that was the most sensuous thing Rey had ever experienced. His body brushing hers as his limbs extended, rising.

 

He looked at himself in the mirror over her shoulder, a quick push of his hand through his hair that had her knees giving out again, and then he stared down at her, hands raising to press soft fingerprints into her cheeks and jaw, tilting her face up to him.

 

His lips on her cheek, her chin, her eyelashes.

 

She sighed when he pulled away, leaving her leaning against the sink, watching him pull the door open and smirk at her before disappearing.

 

She turned to the mirror. She felt like she could see his lips everywhere. Pressing into her velvet dress, burning her hipbones, drifting across her chest.

 

Rey fixed what she could before exiting and being accosted by the relieved stage manager. She made her entrance, waving again to the top tiers, winding her way around the first violins, and taking up her chair.

 

She looked at him once she sat. His dark expressive eyes grazed her body.

 

She applauded for Luke. She started the first song of act two. And fully comprehended halfway through what had just happened.

 

Kylo Ren wanted to put his mouth on her body.  _Everywhere_  on her body. 

 

She missed an entrance. But thankfully Diane was there behind her with a kick to her chair. 


	8. So Full of Shapes is Fancy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all your kind words! As you can see, I'm majorly behind on answering comments. You shall forgive me, methinks.

She didn’t know what to do with her hands.

 

She usually had a champagne glass when talking to strangers at the Plaza, something for her fingers to wrap around.

 

But the moment she’d arrived she had been accosted by every sort of person, all clamoring to know more about “Fugue No. 1,” now accompanied. The problem was that she knew _nothing_ about “Fugue No. 1” except the notes on the page. She couldn’t very well just tell people she had no idea it existed until sixteen bars before her entrance.

 

“And how long have you been working with Kylo Ren?” a kind old lady squeaked. She was a huge donor. Rey needed to tread carefully.

 

“We… Well, we only started…” _what was the word—_ “collaborating this season.”

 

“Oh, lovely! And will we see more collaborations in upcoming concerts?”

 

Rey blinked at her, the tight smile held firmly on her face as she wondered where the _fuck_ was Ben.

 

She hadn’t seen him at the end of the concert. He’d gone to take his Stradivarius home, but should be arriving any moment.

 

“I sure hope so,” a masculine voice from behind her.

 

She turned to see Ben holding two champagne glasses. Once she took the one outstretched to her, he extended his arm to hug to the older woman, pressing a kiss her to her cheeks.

 

Of course he knew all the donors.

 

Rey blushed, thinking inappropriate things about those lips even as they landed on the other side of a wrinkled face. She watched as he smiled and laughed and flirted and joked.

 

So different from his usual surly attitude at these parties.

 

Rey gulped down her champagne like it was water.

 

In a perfect impression of his mother, Ben said, “It was lovely to see you again, Margaret. Tell Lenny I say hi,” and then his hand was on her back, steering her away.

 

They were caught in several more webs that evening. Always together. Always with his hand resting lightly on her back.

 

Like kissing him had broken a boundary, and how his hands were free to roam. A hand at her elbow to guide her. His lips against her ear as he named the person approaching them next. A whisper of fingers on her hip.

 

She let him do most of the talking, as he said the most riveting things:

 

“Rey helped me write the cello part, so it’s only fair that I include her in the progression.”

 

“Miss Johnson truly inspired the piece.”

 

“I knew from the moment I heard her play that I needed to make music with her.”

 

Rey was dizzy.

 

And his thumb was brushing patterns on her back.

 

She tossed back her second glass of champagne and said, “Excuse me, I’m going to use the restroom.”

 

She caught sight of his face as she pulled away from him, his lips tight and his eyes searching her.

 

She paced into bathroom, and just as she wondered if she’d see Rose again, the door swung open behind her.

 

“Okay, so I’m _totally_ stalking you this time, but WOW!” Rose grabbed her arms like they were super close friends. “THAT SONG WAS BRILLIANT! He made it a duet for you! Oh, my gosh!”

 

Rey smiled. “Thanks, yeah. It was… crazy.”

 

“Byron said no one in the orchestra knew you were going to play. You guys surprised everyone!”

 

“’Surprise’ is definitely the operative word.”

 

Rose bounced on her toes and gave Rey a secretive smile. “And I can’t help but notice that there’s no foxy model here tonight.” She elbowed Rey in the side. “Are you guys finally boning??”

 

Rey blinked at her. This was why she didn’t have female friends.

 

“Um, no. Not y— I mean, no.”

 

“’Not _yet??_ ’” Rose’s jaw dropped. “I’m so excited for you! Ugh! You’re going to make beautiful prodigy babies!”

 

Rey laughed and smiled her way through the rest of her conversation with Rose.

 

Did she _mean_ ‘not yet?’

 

Rose seemed to think there was nothing wrong with that response.

 

And what was wrong with it? His intentions had been very clear.

 

_I want to see you. And fuck you. And play music with you._

 

And here she was hiding in the bathroom, letting a strange girl talk her into it instead of just…

 

“Rose,” Rey interrupted. “I gotta go. I’m gonna… I gotta go.”

 

Rey turned and left, the sounds of Rose squealing and the words, “You’re totally gonna bone!” following her out.

 

He was still talking with the same stuffy old man. His eyes caught on hers the second she stepped back onto the main floor.

 

She marched back to them, looping her arm through his and saying, “I’m sorry to interrupt, but we need to get going. Kylo and I have an early recording session in the morning.”

 

He looked down at her, and the older man lifted his brows. “Recording! Are you recording the song you played this evening?”

 

“Yes,” Rey said. “We have to make some edits tonight… bang a few things out.”

 

She felt him go completely still next to her.

 

The older man wished them luck, and before he could even ask, she was leading them to coat check where she’d brought Squeaky for a hasty exist should she need one, and dragging him to the curb to flag a cab.

 

She slid onto the seat, and he was still trying to figure out if he was joining her in the cab when she gave the driver the cross streets of his apartment building.

 

He folded himself into the car stiffly, and they didn’t look at each other once during the ten-minute drive.

 

They stood next to each other in the elevator up. Same positions from the last time they’d shared this elevator.

 

And Rey for some ungodly reason thought about Ronnie Schultz from high school, and the way he’d laid her down across the couch in his basement and kissed her until their clothes were off.

 

And Kevin Peters, an old foster sibling she’d caught up with two years ago. He was a year older than her. They’d ended up having sex on an air mattress on the floor of his apartment.

 

She hadn’t come either time.

 

Hadn’t had an orgasm until Poe of all people brought her along to his favorite sex shop while looking for something special for Finn’s birthday. He’d given her a $100 bill and said, “Get whatever you want, just don’t let me see it. Or _hear_ it.”

 

The only orgasm she’d ever had with another person was on the 8th floor of this apartment building.

 

The elevator dinged.

 

He held the door open for her, like last time. Only now she knew which way to go.

 

The keys turned in the lock, and he opened the door for her. She went straight into the kitchen area, and waited for him to lock up behind them. The Stradivarius case rested in the entry way.

 

She couldn’t look at him. He stood across the kitchen island from her.

 

She looked compulsively at all of his appliances.

 

“Do you want to go into the studio?” he asked.

 

“Yep.”

 

She turned on her heel and marched into the only room she’d become familiar with in this apartment.

 

She brought Squeaky with her, and held him close as Ben brought his Stradivarius over to its home in the corner. She examined the instruments on the wall, like she’d never seen them before.

 

Her fingers drifted over Ruby.

 

She turned to him. “You kept the recording.”

 

He stared at her from next to the window. He nodded.

 

“After I told you to delete it.”

 

He nodded.

 

“Why?”

 

A blush rose on his jaw, and he looked away from her and said, “It was… stunning. It was art. I didn’t want to lose it.”

 

She didn’t understand how that was true. She’d been… distracted.

 

“Let’s hear it.”

 

He blinked at her. Something darkened in his eyes before he moved to his computer screens. He shook the mouse and the first screen popped up with the violin music for “Fugue No. 1.” He clicked his way through his music program and said, “I cut it down. So, there’s a version with only the last take.”

 

She pressed her lips together, and she could maybe see the tops of his ears burning red. He shrugged off his tuxedo jacket, laying it across the back of his desk chair. He clicked play, and Rey held her violin case in front of her like a shield.

 

The rumble of the electric cello starting up the arpeggios. And Rey had forgotten how different Ruby’s tones were to his Stradivarius.

 

She stared at the floor, trying to listen for what it was he thought was so fascinating, and trying not to recall where his hands had been at this point.

 

She sailed into the smooth section, breathing into the rhythms and slowing the tempo.

 

It sounded alright. Nothing truly remarkable. She still though the more impressive thing was the composition.

 

The fingerpicking section, and she swallowed, knowing for certain that this was the moment his hand had slipped into her leggings. She chanced a glance at him and found him staring at her, eyes dark.

 

She bit her lip and looked away.

 

There was something hauntingly beautiful about it, she would concede. Her intonation was better than she’d thought, and there was a type of movement – something that couldn’t always be accomplished while playing with other people. She made choices about vibrato and _rallentandos_ that affected the mood of the piece.

 

The quick build to the end. And the tonic.

 

Rey looked to him. He sat in his desk chair, leaning forward on his knees with his eyes closed. Listening. Feeling. And then:

 

“Will you really record with me?” His eyes opened, looking into her. “In a real studio? The arrangement we played tonight?”

 

He looked at her like his entire being hinged on her answer. And even though they were in his apartment, even though he had always been the one to pursue her, even though he already knew she was here to… bang it out, Rey knew she had all the power here.

 

And there was one thing that she desperately wanted. More than him.

 

“Yes,” she said. “On one condition.”

 

He looked at her, bracing for something treacherous.

 

She stepped toward him. “Will you play the violin part for me? Here. Now.”

 

He sat very still. And she waited.

 

“I don’t play violin anymore.”

 

Like an answer you memorize. Like reciting your address when you’re lost.

 

She lifted her brows at him. “Are your violin fingers broken?” She smiled. “Is your shoulder injured? Can’t support the weight?”

 

He didn’t smile back at her.

 

She pressed on, “You wrote the violin part.” She nodded over his shoulder at the sheet music on the screen. “You must have—“

 

“I wrote it in the program. Electronically.”

 

She stared at him. “So you haven’t played the violin since—“

 

“In eight years.”

 

Around the time he’d dropped out of Julliard then.

 

Rey watched him. He was tense. Like someone had just asked him to swim with sharks. She moved toward the chair he’d sat her in to play the cello. She turned it to face him, and gestured for him to sit.

 

He rose slowly out of the computer chair and moved to her. Once he sat, she opened her case, and extended Squeaky to him.

 

“I can use my electric,” he said, looking over to the wall where Victor was hung.

 

“No, that’s alright.” She handed him the bow. “I wanna hear this on acoustic.”

 

He took the instrument from her, looking a bit lost, and she went to his computer screen. She started the track of her playing the electric cello, and sat in his computer chair, turning to watch him.

 

He waited for sixteen measures, holding her violin delicately, like he could break it if he wasn’t careful. She leaned forward on her knees, like he would do to listen to her.

 

The violin under his chin. His lips pressed together. And then the bow to the strings.

 

The sailing melody, catching the tail end of the arpeggios.

 

He frowned at something, but Rey thought it was perfect.

 

He was perfect.

 

Harmonizing with her recording. Even though she was on electric, and he was on acoustic, there was something right about it.

 

Almost like Kylo Ren and Ben Solo had decided to play together.

 

He pressed through in the quarter note rhythm. And his eyes slid closed, his body humming with the melody.

 

The way his body moved. Flowed. Exactly like he’d tried to teach her with his chest against her back and his thighs tight against hers.

 

She felt as if she was watching him through a fogged glass. Something hazy in the background. Something fighting to come forward.

 

He was Ben Solo again. Auditioning for Julliard. Asking for subscribers with crooked teeth. She felt her breath catch.

 

She’d found him again.

 

His eyes closed, squeezing over the arpeggios and fluttering through the smoother sections.

 

Remarkable. With his too-small violin in his huge hands, his fingers still found their way over the strings, dainty as ever. Nimble as he’d been years ago.

 

The ending. She watched as his lips trembled with the vibrato of the strings.

 

She dragged in a breath, and felt her lungs trembling with him. The bow lifted from the strings. The sound ceased.

 

Rey stood as he kept his eyes closed, listening to something she couldn’t hear. Her hands dropped on his shoulders and her mouth pressed to his.

 

He gasped against her lips, and she slid her fingers into his hair, groaning.

 

His arms reached up for her waist, circling her, the violin and bow still in his hands. And his body surged forward to her, pressing up and opening his lips.

 

She sighed into his mouth, air coming quickly and leaving just as fast. Still confused as to how she got here, Rey slid onto his lap, sitting on his thighs and draping her arms over his shoulders.

 

He moaned as his tongue slipped into her mouth, dancing and searching and urging her on.

 

Rey pushed against him, her chest against his and her lips never leaving his.

 

Ben Solo wanted her. And he was beautiful.

 

She heard the violin and bow placed down as delicately as possible, and she smiled, waiting for him to touch her, to paw at her and rip her clothes and—

 

Light fingers on her hips, even as his teeth nipped at her bottom lip. Small touches to her outer thighs, even as she scooted forward, opening her legs to press them further together. Fingers curling into her dress and clutching, even as she moaned into his mouth and rolled her hips and pressed her tongue to his and whispered, “Ben.”

 

He panted against her lips as she pulled back to look at him. Eyes blown dark. Pink staining his cheeks. Gaze on her lips.

 

_What’s wrong_ , on the tip of her tongue. And then—

 

“Can I touch you?” he said, looking back to her eyes.

 

She nodded, jerking her head. “Please.”

 

His hands were up her thighs, dragging her dress, pulling up past her waist, tugging it over her head, and she gasped at the sudden chill before his lips dropped to her chest and one hand covered her breast. The other falling back to her hip, thumb rubbing at the place her thigh connected to her hip.

 

She listened to her choking breath as his lips and tongue attacked her chest, slowing spinning down until he sucked at her breast over her thin bra.

 

“Oh, my—“

 

The hand on her hip slid over her lace underwear, thumb pressing to her clit easily. The other hand pinched at her nipple.

 

She gasped, throat closing as her eyes rolled back.

 

He groaned with her lace-covered nipple in his mouth.

 

She felt like she was drowning, trying to suck in air against the current. Her hips rocked against the fingers at her clit, and he worked her bra down under her breasts.

 

His lips on her nipple, sucking and licking and blowing hot air on her whenever he stopped to breathe.

 

“I… I need…” she stammered, pulling sharp air into her body. “Oh, god.”

 

His hand pushed under her lace panties, thumb pressing quick and consistent circles on her clit.

 

She felt it tightening inside of her, faster than it’s ever come on before, and she felt her hips tense as his teeth grazed her breast, growling against her skin.

 

She panted for air, and as his thumb brushed firmly against her clit, she dragged him back from her chest, dipping her head to kiss him. Her hips jumped. Her throat whined. Her fingers tugged. And her lips parted for him.

 

She fractured as he breathed into her, “Rey.”

 

A cry from her lungs, her eyes squeezed tight, and several sharp movements of her hips against his.

 

She fluttered down, drifting like a feather, and whispered his name across his lips, before nuzzling her mouth to him again.

 

He kissed her, soft and easy, and when he moved his hands from her core and breast and back to her hips, she could feel him, hard and restrained in his tuxedo pants.

 

Her hands slid down from his shoulder, brushing over his chest and stomach, down to his button and zipper. He sucked in a shaky breath, and then dropped his forehead against her neck. She ran her fingers across the outline of him, soft strokes sweeping over his zipper. She felt him twitch. When she flipped open his button, he muttered, “Fuck” into her neck.

 

And then he was standing, taking her with him and holding her legs around his waist as he stepped over her violin case and walked her out of the room.

 

She heaved for air when he directed them to his bedroom.

 

He was… They were…

 

And then her back pressed into a wall. He pressed his hips into her, pinning her into the wall and bringing his hands up to her face. She opened her eyes to see him looking directly into her, eyes focused and intent.

 

“You need to tell me… If you want to stop, you need to tell me.”

 

His thumbs brushed her checks. One of them trembled over her bottom lip, opening her mouth, and she watched his eyes drop and stare at her mouth.

 

“Okay,” she kissed against his skin.

 

He swallowed, and dipped his head, pressing their mouths together, his hands holding her face still as he delved into her, twisting his tongue to hers and suffocating her with his hot air. Just as she started to struggle for breath, he pulled away, heaving, and turning his mouth on her neck.

 

“I’ve never wanted someone like this,” he hissed into her skin. He rolled his hips to hers, and she felt him twitch against her core. His hands slid down, gliding over her ribs and twining around her waist. One across her low back, one slipping down to hold her hip. “It’s never been like this.”

 

Rey closed her eyes, nodding against his temple. _Yes_ , she wanted to say. _Yes, for me too_.

 

“Fuck, you smell so good.”

 

Which was funny because she thought she smelled like hairspray and Dial soap tonight.

 

She chuckled until he said, “…smelled like this that day, too.” He licked a long stroke up her neck. “Couldn’t even walk into my studio without smelling you.”

 

His hips snapped against hers, pressing up against her. Rey gasped. And for the first time realized that Ronnie Schultz and Kevin Peters were boys. And Ben was… well.

 

He ground into her again and she bit her lip, holding back a moan. Heaving against her neck between sucking at her skin, he continued like he couldn’t hold the words inside of himself.

 

“Never met anyone like you… Perfect…” The hand wrapped around her back slithered down to join his other in holding her hips. It felt like he could encompass her entire body with his hands. “There’s never been anyone…” His fingertips pressed bruises into her skin, pulling her body towards him as his hips surged up. He groaned, still buried in his tuxedo pants. Her hands moved to his collar, trying to pull the buttons. “No one who could be mine.”

 

Her fingers shook. His hips grinded against her, pushing himself as close as possible. His lips on her clavicle.

 

_Made for each other_.

 

She took a deep breath, and like falling off a steep cliff, hoping for water at the bottom, she pulled his face to hers, met his eyes and said, “I am.”

 

His eyes danced over her face, lips twitching for words he could no longer articulate. Something hungry in his eyes that had her spinning as she pulled his mouth to hers again. He moaned into her and she drank him down.

 

And then his tongue fucked her mouth as his hips plummeted out of control, spasming and slamming into her, his hands pulling her so close she thought there was no space left. He pumped against her, breathing hard against her lips, nipping and kissing and sliding his tongue through her.

 

He grunted, his hips tensing before slamming against her again – a sigh – and again. She kissed as his lips, his cheek, his jaw – small peppering of affection as he came.

 

She didn’t remember Ronnie jerking, or Kevin grunting. Just a quiet release, leaving her unsatisfied.

 

His eyes snapped open, dark and searching for her. She expected an apology, or embarrassment. Something equivalent to a grown man coming in his pants.

 

He kissed her quick, and hauled her off the wall, spinning them into his bedroom.

 

A lamp flipped on. And she looked around his tidy bedroom before her body fell through the air and landed on his mattress.

 

Not an air mattress on the floor. He had a headboard and everything.

 

His eyes devoured her as he started in on his shirt buttons. She sat up and unsnapped her bra, tossing it somewhere. He stared at her breasts while shrugging off his tuxedo shirt.

 

And Rey thought of the push-up competition. And the magazine cover with his arms exposed. And the Henley shirts.

 

And suddenly things were very real as his fingers moved to finish the job she’d started on unzipping him. Rey felt her heart strangling her. She took calming breaths, as his pants dropped, just his boxer briefs on now. His thighs were… yeah.

 

“You’ll tell me if you want to stop?”

 

She pulled her eyes from where his fingertips were slipping under his waistband. She followed the pillar of his body, past his heaving ribs to his lips, tongue dipping out to wet them.

 

Stop?

 

She stared at him, trying to remember the question.

 

He slipped his underwear down his thighs, and she barely had two seconds to take him in before he knelt, grabbing her calves and dragging her down the mattress.

 

She gasped. And looked at the ceiling, biting her lip to keep from squeaking.

 

His hands spread across her thighs. She felt him kiss the inside of her knee. Her leg twitched.

 

“Rey?”

 

_Oh, god. Don’t talk to me – just do it._

 

“Rey.” He kissed her thigh, and her hips tensed. “I want to do this, but only if you’ll let me.”

 

His voice was like melted chocolate over her skin. She shivered.

 

“Yeah, okay,” she squeaked. Like he’d asked to borrow a pencil. “It’s um… No one’s ever… so… Yeah, go ahead. If you want.”

 

She kept her eyes on the ceiling – on _Kylo Ren’s_ ceiling… as his palms smoothed down her thighs. His lips started a path from the back of her knee, traveling up and up. She could feel his breath on her panties… And then he kissed the inside of her other thigh… Traveling back down to her other knee.

 

He did this four times. His tongue licking at her on one of the journeys. His lips sucking on another. Rey twisted her hips against the bed, one arm thrown over her face, one tearing at his comforter.

 

His teeth now. Small grazes against her skin, and when he reached the top of her right thigh, transferring over to her left, she hooked her leg over his shoulder and groaned, “Just fucking…” She growled.

 

She swore she could feel him smile against her thigh.

 

And then his mouth landed against her, over her underwear – probably drenched by now.

 

She arched, her heel digging into his back, and cursed into the crook of her elbow.

 

His hot breath against her. His tongue ran a path along the lace, and she cried lowly.

 

“Ben, please…”

 

He bent her legs up, straight into the air. His hands rolled her panties around her backside and up, over her knees, off her feet, flung into a corner of the room, and she gasped when he held her like that and licked at her.

 

She reached out for him, for something to hold onto, and only had his hands on her thighs to grab. She finally looked down her body as he let her legs fall open, his face and hair appearing between her legs just as he licked through her again.

 

Rey had never felt anything like it. It was—

 

He looked up at her.

 

Her legs tremored. And his fingers threaded through hers. Another long slow swipe of his tongue through her, ending on her clit, and Rey had to lean her head back and stare at his ceiling again.

 

It was… a lot.

 

He kissed at her, sucking at her. His hands squeezed hers as his tongue passed through her opening again and he groaned into her.

 

The rumbling shook her, and she hooked her legs across his shoulders again, her toes curling.

 

He kissed her clit. Light touches with his lips. And firmer. And then his mouth opened. And when he sucked at her she arched her spine, and before she knew it she was coming, squeezing his hands, pressing her heels into his shoulders, pushing her hips up against his mouth.

 

Her legs jerked, and her throat caught on a cry. And he kept sucking at her, her clit throbbing between his lips.

 

She might have whimpered his name. It was hard to tell. 

 

A flood of peace through her, dripping across her veins and spinning songs in her ear.

 

As Ben continued to pass his tongue across her.

 

He released her hands, and folded his arms around her thighs, clutching her hips close to him.

 

Rey looked down and found him kissing her cunt with slow, soft sucking lips, his tongue drifting through her entrance like he didn’t want to waste a drop.

 

And something burned in her again. Like picking up in the middle of the “Fugue,” at the fingerpicking section.

 

His eyes snapped up to hers, and he watched her face as he dipped down to her clit again.

 

“Ben,” she hummed. “I’m not sure…”

 

His tongue pushed against her, and the song blared in her blood.

 

She threw her head back, fingers scrambling for the covers. She moaned as he kissed the skin above her clit, before diving back down to her.

 

Her legs tensed and she tried to press her thighs together, but his arms held her down, held her open.

 

Held her open for him.

 

She looked down at him again, pulling up to her elbows. She could see more of his bare body like this. And she bit her lip as his ribcage pulled against the skin on his back.

 

His eyes still on her, and he began sucking at her again. Harder.

 

“Oh, god…”

 

Her fingers dove into his hair, and a rhythm in her pulse promised something beautiful.

 

She watched his face as she gasped, and squealed, as he brought her closer and closer to the coda. So much more intense this time. Like someone had turned on the surround sound.

 

Her hips jumped against his mouth, and she pulled at his hair.

 

A quick break for air that had her gasping, and then his hand slithered from her thigh, pushing through her, and pressing one finger inside of her.

 

Her jaw dropped open on a hissed moan, and then his mouth latched to her, sucking, licking. She locked on his eyes as her hips twisted and her spine curled, and her voice called for him. He pushed another finger into her, and then they curved, beckoning her to him.

 

Later she would wonder if the neighbors were home.

 

She yelled out, almost a scream, calling for him as his lips abused her clit and his fingers spread her wide, pressing against places inside of her she’d only read about.

 

Her fingers tugged at his hair, and he hummed something against her cunt.

 

She fell back to the mattress, boneless. And he kissed her thighs again, sliding his fingers from her.

 

His mouth traveled across her hipbones, up her belly, bouncing over each rib, soft licks to both nipples, before hovering over her.

 

He tried to hold himself up, but she could still feel him hard against her thigh.

 

She reached a shaking hand up, pushing his damp hair away from his face, and leaned up to kiss him, tasting herself.

 

He reached down, and pushed her thighs open, positioning himself against her. He reached for his drawers, grabbing for a condom. She felt him fiddle with it.

 

She was ready to lie there, and let him do things to her.

 

She smiled up at him, and he searched her eyes.

 

“Tell me again. Please.”

 

She searched her recent memory and found nothing but an insane number of orgasms.

 

He clarified. “Tell me that maybe you could belong to me?”

 

Ben Solo stared down at her. And she saw the open and passionate violinist, not the cellist.

 

“I do,” she whispered.

 

His eyes delved into her, as he pressed himself slowly inside.

 

And if she thought she was just going to lie back and enjoy, she was appallingly wrong.

 

She hadn’t gotten a good look at him before he’d dropped to his knees. But she really should have guessed from the size of him, the width of those shoulders.

 

It felt like she was being pulled apart. She whimpered before she could stop it, and he stopped, trembling above her.

 

What the _fuck_ was _he_ trembling about?

 

Her fingernails dug into his shoulders, and he said, “Okay?”

 

Nope. Not okay. She thought coming twice— _three times_ would have made her ready for this. But she still felt like a virgin on a couch in the basement.

 

“Rey?”

 

She nodded, eyes closed, pressing her lips together, and promised herself she wouldn’t whimper again.

 

He pushed in further and she threw her head back, chin reaching to the wall behind her. He dropped kisses onto her neck until he was fully inside. He lowered himself to rest on top of her on his elbows, and she squeezed her eyes closed when he started to move. So slow. Dragging through her.

 

He was breathing into her hair like he’d run for miles.

 

“Rey,” he hummed. “We can stop.”

 

Her eyes snapped open, and she looked up at him, shaking above her. Sweat rolled down his neck, and his hair was damp.

 

“Just kiss me,” she said.

 

He pressed his lips to hers, slow and sweet. Her arms wound around his shoulders, pressing their chests together. And when he started to slide into her again, she concentrated on the music.

 

Aggravated arpeggios and triplets.

 

He breathed against her lips, hips pushing shallow movements into her.

 

A slow legato, like falling water.

 

She lifted her knee to his waist, and when he slid in deeper, it wasn’t as bad as before. He looked into her eyes to make sure, and she nodded. He picked up his pace, holding her leg to his hip, and it was almost pleasant again.

 

The fingerpicking, like raindrops, she’d thought.

 

His hand slid between them, a slow pulse on her clit. Rey turned her head to kiss his neck.

 

A long drawn out note that didn’t fit with the rest.

 

He pulled himself up, kneeling between her thighs, and ran his hands across her body, one thumb always circling her clit. She liked the view.

 

And then the cello joins her again, saving her from the accidental.

 

She stared into his eyes as he thrust into her. His hand on her waist to pull her to him. And Rey felt the melody burning in her again as his thumb tumbled over her clit.

 

The storm. The agitation.

 

Her walls fluttered suddenly. And Ben’s hips stuttered, his eyes closing and his lips forming words he wouldn’t speak. She reached for him.

 

Arpeggios and dancing voices.

 

He folded himself over onto her, and as his lips found hers, the angle changed, and suddenly it was _very_ good. Her lips parted on a sigh, and he ran his tongue over hers.

 

A quick build to the end.

 

“Rey,” he murmured against her mouth. She looked into his eyes as he pressed their foreheads together. “Me too.” He blinked quickly, panting against her lips. “I belong to you.”

 

Her legs locked around his hips, and her hands wound into his hair, and her chest arched into his.

 

He kissed her as he pressed firmly on her clit, his pace increasing and his tongue sloppy in her mouth.

 

Rey groaned, a quick burst of pleasure as her walls held him. Something so delicate that you can hardly decide if it existed.

 

He cursed into her hair, burying his face into her neck, and quickly rutted into her, his hand holding down her hip. She listened as he came, sighing and gasping, shaking breaths into her skin. A melody she’d endeavor to chase for the rest of her life.

 

Her fingers drifted down his back, following the lines of his muscles and dipping in each vertebra. He lifted his head and stared at her, breathing hard.

 

He pushed a lock of hair behind her ear, hand cradling her cheek as he looked down at her.

 

The tonic.

 

The peace.


	9. High Fantastical

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've upped the chapter count to 11. I hope you don't mind terribly. :)

Rey twisted herself up in soft sheets, pulling a pillow more snugly underneath her head. 

 

It was Sunday. She could sleep. She should go for a run. But she never went for a run. 

 

She wasn’t even positive she knew  _how_  to run.

 

She pushed her face into her pillow. 

 

Not her pillow. 

 

Her eyes snapped open, staring at an unfamiliar digital alarm clock reading 8:53AM. 

 

Was she supposed to stay the night? Was that okay? Was that what people did?

 

She turned over carefully and looked for Ben. 

 

His side of the bed was empty – sheets perfectly folded, as if she’d dreamed the whole thing. 

 

Just as she was wondering if that was her cue to get out, she spotted a glass on the nightstand. 

 

An iced latte. Either homemade, or fetched and then poured into a glass for her.

 

Rey blinked at it for a few minutes, trying to get her bearings. She slipped out of the sheets, attempted to fold and reset them like he had, and looked for her—

 

Her dress was in the studio. Tossed onto the floor. Rey sighed. 

 

She sipped at her perfectly-mixed iced vanilla latte and decided what to do. 

 

A bathrobe hung from a hanger on the back of his bedroom door. She didn’t know if it was meant for her but she pulled it down and slipped into anyway. 

 

That’s when she heard it. 

 

A small humming. Faint melody drifting through the cracks in the doorjamb. 

 

Rey pulled the bedroom door open, and found the studio door shut. 

 

She pressed her ear to it. Something beautiful was happening inside, and Rey almost felt bad for trying to interrupt. 

 

She opened the door to find Ben Solo sitting at his desk in nothing but his underwear, alternating between typing furiously and pulling her violin up to his chin, dragging the bow across in smooth legatos. 

 

She watched, fascinated by him. He hit the space bar and the music writing program played an electronic violin melody, something distorted and so far from the pure sounds that the strings could make. Ben held her violin under his chin and joined, continuing when the playback ended abruptly, sailing into a melody that finished the phrase.

 

The violin dropped to his lap, and his fingers flew across the keys, typing notes directly onto the screen.

 

He must have felt her presence. He turned to the door and jumped up. 

 

“Hey,” he said, placing her violin back in its open case. “Sorry. I should have asked—“

 

“No, please.” She stopped him, waving a hand. She smiled and said, “What are you working on?”

 

“I just”— he ran his hand through his hair—“had something in my head this morning.”

 

She nodded, staring at him – staring at his bare skin, frankly – and said, “Can I hear?”

 

He blinked at her, like he was about to decline. And then he turned to the computer, clicking. “Yeah. It’s not finished or um... good, yet.”

 

“No,” she said, fiddling with the tie on the bathrobe. “Can I hear you play it?”

 

There was that strange reflection in his eyes again, like he could turn off a part of himself with just the mention of the violin. 

 

He reached for her violin with long fingers, taking his time, like maybe she would change her mind if he moved slow enough. 

 

Looking down at the strings, he said, “On one condition.” A perfect imitation of her own ultimatum last night. He looked up at her under dark lashes, eyes suddenly black. “Take off the robe.”

 

Rey swallowed, feeling a chill run across her skin. 

 

Oh yes, how silly of her to forget. They’d had sex last night. They were now people who had sex. With each other, specifically. 

 

Meeting his eyes, she pulled the tie from around her waist, peeling back the robe and slipping it down her arms. 

 

The look in his eyes when she stood across the room fully naked, was... yeah. 

 

He lifted the violin to his chin, and she sat across from him in the spare chair, crossing her legs and trying to find inventive ways to sit that didn’t make her  _naked_. 

 

She knew the moment the first notes played that this was not “Fugue No. 2.”

 

A different key. A different tempo. Something lovely and miserable and challenging and hopeful. He pulled the bow across a love song. His fingers framed a yearning soliloquy. His vibrato pulsed a haunted ballad. 

 

It was all of those things. 

 

His gaze dripped across her skin, resting on her face, dancing across her stomach, focusing on her breasts and her taut nipples. 

 

A long held note that could have been the ending, and he lifted the bow and said, “Open your legs.” And an afterthought: “Please.”

 

Rey heard a thrumming in the silence. His eyes on her, begging. And slowly she unfolded herself, dropping her toes to the floor, and pulling her knees apart. 

 

She could do this. It was just like sitting in a chair watching him play. 

 

He placed the bow back on the violin strings. “More.”

 

And just as she was deciding to blush shyly and shake her head with a giggle, he started playing again. 

 

And her thighs parted. 

 

She thought it was maybe a second movement of the first song. And maybe it started that way, but as the bow pulled across the strings she knew in her blood that he was writing this, that very moment, staring at her. 

 

To his credit, his eyes weren’t glued to her core. He swept over her, dragging arpeggios across her breasts, tumbling triplets down her sides, and lingering legatos into her eyes. 

 

She was flushed, and her breath couldn’t even out. Every time she thought she had her pulse under control, her eyes would dip down his body, landing on the tent in his underwear. 

 

He pulled the final notes, and his eyes burned into hers. 

 

She thought maybe she should say something like “beautiful song” or “can I close my legs now?”

 

He placed her violin in its case, stood from his chair, and crossed to her –a slow prowl ending with him standing between her open knees, looking down on her, his cock straining toward her.

 

She kept her eyes on his, a smile breaking out across her face as she chuckled anxiously. “Good morning,” she chirped.

 

He lowered himself to kneel in front of her, hands sliding up her knees. His lips smiled up at her as she dipped her head to kiss him, hands settling on his shoulders.

 

His thumbs brushed the insides of her thighs when his tongue slipped inside of her mouth. He whispered against her lips, “Did you like your latte?”

 

She smiled and nodded as he kissed his way down her body, threading her fingers through his hair when he bent her knees up to her chest and began licking at her.

 

~*~ 

 

They showered after that. 

 

Well, more like he offered her the shower, and never ended up leaving the bathroom. 

 

He had one of those obnoxiously expensive showers, with the overhead rainshower nozzle and the compartments and the money just oozing out of it. 

 

“I don’t have anything... female. I’m sorry,” he said while searching under the sink for something other than Head and Shoulders. And Rey smiled at the back of his head, realizing that that meant he didn’t have a lot of females using his shower. 

 

“It’s okay. Can I use your stuff?”

 

He sighed. “Yeah...” And Rey’s chest clenched at his tone, like he didn’t really want her in his things. “But then you won’t smell like you,” he muttered, still searching the depths of his cabinets.  

 

She beamed at him even though he couldn’t see. She caught sight of herself in the mirror and she looked... ridiculous, really. 

 

“But I’ll smell like  _you_ ,” she offered. 

 

His hands stopped fumbling. The cabinets closed. 

 

She wasn’t quite sure how he ended up inside the shower with her, but he’d lost his boxer briefs at some point. Maybe it was when he was “showing her how to work the taps.”

 

She could see his ears when his hair was wet. They stuck out like overgrown vegetables, and Rey chuckled as he handed her the shampoo. 

 

“Write down the name of your shampoo and wash. I’ll have them for you next time.”

 

And maybe it was the way his eyes landed on her breasts as she reached above her head to rinse her hair, or maybe it was the way he said “next time” like a promise, or maybe it was the permanence of a supply of her belongings here in his space. 

 

She wrapped herself around him and kissed him. 

 

He dropped the bottle of body wash, and pushed her up against the tiles. 

 

Rey smiled against his mouth until his hands began to roam, winding pathways across her stomach and circling her breasts. 

 

The wall was cold on her back, but his chest pressed to hers when his hands moved down to hold her hips.  He was hard against her stomach. He still hadn’t come. 

 

Her fingers pushed through his wet hair, rounding his shoulders and falling down his sides. She reached between them, and when her hand wrapped around him, he shuddered. She pumped him slowly, fingers loose and teasing. 

 

He dragged her hand off him, took her hips in his hands, and turned her until she faced the wall. Her breath caught, misting against the tiles as he grabbed handfuls of her backside, squeezing and then running his fingers through her. 

 

Bracing her elbows on the wall, she pushed back against him, listening to him gasp. He kissed her neck and ran one hand up to tug at her breast. 

 

She felt him at her entrance, and he said, “Let me know if this is good.”

 

She nodded, panting, waiting. 

 

He kept his thrusts shallow, controlled. There was still an  _insane_  stretch happening inside of her, but it was better. Everything was better. 

 

One hand at her clit, the other alternating between her breasts or running through her hair. 

 

When he tugged her hip back toward him and her feet slipped into a new position, he slid in further, and they both groaned. 

 

She felt it twisting inside of her, a building crescendo pulling deep and dropping low. And when she moaned, “Ben, please,” his hips jerked and she felt  _all_  of him inside of her, the angle filling every empty space and broken promise, and before he’d even pulled out to re-enter her, she quaked around him, spasming and clenching down on him. 

 

Her yell burst across the tiles, and he pulled out too soon, whispering, “Fuck, fuck, fuck” into her shoulder. Her legs were still tremoring as he came across her backside, his hand slamming against the wall next to her forehead. 

 

It was only later, when they were dried off and eating Seamless breakfast delivery in his kitchen, that she realized she didn’t wash out all the shampoo in her hair. 

 

~*~

 

The good thing about having a week off between concerts was that neither of them had anywhere to go for seven days. 

 

Ben took her to dinner. Ben took her to lunch. Sometimes Ben took her to breakfast but mostly they stayed in. Ben knew how to make eggs, bacon, French toast, iced vanilla lattes and even omelets if she asked nicely. And he could do all of that while naked. She talked him into pancakes on Tuesday, resulting in a very competitive food fight with the pancake batter.

 

Mostly she’d wake up to an empty bed though, the melody of a new song every morning floating in through the bedroom door he would close so she could sleep. She’d find him on her violin, on his cello, or even sometimes just editing on the computer. 

 

Finn checked in on her at one point, and she told him to not expect her back for a few days. _Eggplant emoji_. He’d gone absolutely insane at that.

 

On Wednesday, after she’d gulped her latte and joined him in the studio, she finally asked him. 

 

“Why did you leave Julliard?”

 

He swiveled his chair. He blinked at her twice before saying, “It didn’t suit me.”

 

She nodded, accepting the response but not accepting the answer. “Can you explain why?” A pause. “I never went to a university. I never even applied. So, I don’t know how these things work.”

 

He stared at her, his throat moving. “Applying for school is like applying for a box you want to live in for the rest of your life. That’s all university really is. It’s boxes.”

 

As someone who did, in fact, live in a box for two days at age eight during a failed run-away attempt, Rey had to bite her tongue to keep from reminding him that his “box” was something people would kill to live in. She looked down at her feet, trying to let the jealousy and self-pity pass, just like she had every time one of her siblings was moved to a better foster home, or Leia handed her platinum card to the shopkeeper, or Finn talked about maybe writing to his birth mom one day, _maybe_.

 

“It’s very foreign to me,” she settled on. She took a deep breath, concentrating on the amazing opportunities her life had presented to her – the way her choices, not her experiences, shaped her.

 

“When did you first hear the violin?” he asked.

 

She looked up at him and swallowed, thinking of the haunting melodies that would drift to her through the studio doors in Maz’s shop. What would she do if he confirmed that it was him? What would it mean?

 

“When I was eleven.”

 

He nodded. “And you knew then that it called to you? That you needed it in your life?”

 

She pressed her lips together, nodding and blinking at him. 

 

“I never had that,” he said. “I was two-years-old when they put a violin in my hand and taught me the scales. I was four the first time I played for a crowd. I’ve lived with the music and the applause my entire life, but I never  _chose_  it.”

 

Some faint memory dropped into her mind. Leia telling her something years ago about playing the violin while she was pregnant. That was the first time Rey learned that Leia had a son. 

 

“Maybe it chose you?” Rey offered. 

 

Ben scratched his jaw, searching for words. “Just because you’re good at something, doesn’t mean you have to do it for the rest of your life.”

 

It was a concept Rey was unfamiliar with. Rey was good at the violin, so she played the violin. Rey was chipper and friendly, so they put her on the register at the food service job she had in high school. Rey was tall and quick, so she joined the Volleyball team for her Physical Education elective.

 

“So, what made you take up cello then?” she asked. 

 

“I was encouraged to play an instrument that I chose, not one chosen for me.”

 

She frowned. “By who?”

 

“My advisor at Julliard. He’s now my agent.”

 

She tilted her head at him. “So, he was okay with you dropping out of Julliard?”

 

“He encouraged it,” Ben said, twisting in his chair. “He knew I had more potential than what Julliard could offer me. They were letting him go at the end of the semester - some administration bullshit - and he told me to come with him.”

 

Something buzzed in Rey’s mind. It sounded like the advisor got the better deal. Taking away Leia Organa’s prodigy son from Julliard just as they were firing him. 

 

“I actually had an email from him this morning.” Ben turned to the desktop, clicking through windows. “I asked him about using the recording studio for ‘Fugue No. 1.’ He said next weekend is good, he just needs us to come in and sign a few things first.”

 

Ben turned to her, eyes bright, but her skin pricked.

 

This was the agent who made Ben Solo disappear. Who had brought attorneys into the mix when Kylo Ren’s name had been omitted from the program. Who probably also erased Rey’s slip at the _New York Times_ interview. 

 

“He’s your agent who owns a recording studio?”

 

Ben nodded. “The Knights record there. He has his own label that we’re covered under.”

 

Rey didn’t know much about the recording industry, but there was something strange about how entrenched in Ben’s career his agent was. 

 

He must have read something from her face. “Are you still wanting to record? With me?”

 

She shook out her tense shoulders. “Yeah, yeah. I just... What kind of paperwork? Will he own the recording after this?”

 

“No. Nothing like that. Probably the usual paperwork.” He shrugged. “Liability waivers and things like that.”

 

Rey nodded, but even as they headed to First Order Studios on Friday morning, she still felt wary.

 

The trek down to the East Village had Rey’s stomach in knots, but Ben held her hand in the cab, pointing out food places he wanted to take her to. They walked the stairs down to the basement, a door opening to deep red walls and black furniture, giving the lobby a much more ominous tone than a recording studio should.

 

Ben nodded to a dark-haired boy behind the desk and led her down a hallway lined with pictures and framed awards. He knocked on a door at the end of the hall, and when a voice inside bid them enter, he opened the door, dropping her hand.

 

An older gentleman in a three-piece suit sat behind a large desk, eyes focused on his multiple screens, clicking a pen in an odd staccato rhythm. As Ben closed the door behind them, he looked up, and his pale blue eyes dragged over her before he smiled tightly and stood.

 

“Kylo. Glad you could make it in,” he said. “And this is Miss Johnson?”

 

Ben guided her into the room, and said, “This is Rey. Rey, this is Peter Snoke.”

 

Rey met him in the center of the room and shook his hand with a smile. “Hi, Mr. Snoke. It’s great to meet you.”

 

“Likewise, Miss Johnson.” His hands were soft – oddly soft. Like he’d never picked up an instrument in his life. “Kylo has told me so much about you. He’s quite impressed with you.”

 

She grinned, slipping her hand from his grip. “Oh, well. He’s… pretty impressive too,” she finished lamely.

 

Mr. Snoke’s eyes dragged over her face, calculating, and then he gave her a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

 

Ben pulled a chair for her in front of the desk, and then sat in a matching one next to her. She’d worn a sundress today, like it was an interview or audition. And she really wished she hadn’t with the way Mr. Snoke looked at her. Like she was just a young, pretty thing. Mr. Snoke stayed tall, leaning back on his desk and crossing his ankles.

 

“So, Kylo. You want to record?”

 

“Yes, I’ve been writing a lot more. I’d like to utilize the studios for my demo tracks. I can pay the engineers myself if need be—“

 

“Oh, nonsense,” Mr. Snoke said, waving his hand. “You know the studios are open to any of my clients.” His eyes turned on her. “But Miss Johnson… is not a client.”

 

Rey blinked at him, feeling a shiver run down her arms.

 

“Like I said, I can pay.” Ben’s voice was firm.

 

Mr. Snoke stood and walked around his desk, taking his seat again. “I know you can. But I’m just thinking of the bigger picture here.” He settled in his chair and steepled his fingers in front of his mouth. “If you’re going into the studio to record for something outside of the Knights, it should push your career forward, Kylo.”

 

Ben’s fingers tapped on the arm of his chair. “They’re just demos—“

 

“I’ve reached out to Hilary Hahn,” Mr. Snoke said.

 

Rey’s eyes widened, and she almost whipped around in her chair to check if her idol was standing in this very room. Ben was very still next to her, and it took everything in her to keep from looking at him.

 

“She’s very interested in working with you on a duet,” he continued. “Her next album is coming out this spring, and we could push for the track to be included.”

 

Rey could feel her heart hammering. That would be amazing exposure for Ben. Not to mention the money he could get as composer and performer on an album that size.

 

_Fuck_ , Hilary Hahn playing the violin part on “Fugue No.1” would be magic—

 

“This duet is with Rey.”

 

Rey looked at Ben. His jaw was set, muscles twitching along his neck. She was about to intervene, to tell him she didn’t mind if it meant he was getting this incredible opportunity—

 

“I wrote it for her,” Ben said.

 

And something sparkled behind Mr. Snoke’s eyes. “Did you now?” He smirked, his leathery face pulling tight. He turned his gaze on Rey, and her skin crawled. “I wondered why you put the rest of the tour on hold to return to the Pops.” And the way he looked at her insinuated that it wasn’t her talent that had drawn him in. “Unfortunately, Kylo,”—his eyes back to Ben—“I cannot give you the studio time you need. Not if it won’t be furthering your career.”

 

Ben uncrossed his legs, sat for a moment, and then re-crossed. Rey heard him opening his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Then: “You haven’t even heard her play. She’s remarkable—“

 

“I _have_ heard her play. She _is_ remarkable,” Mr. Snoke said, and Ben’s jaw clicked shut. Rey wondered when that was. “But she has no brand. No social media presence. She gained only 100 followers after the _New York Times_ article, and they were all _your_ followers.”

 

Rey blinked, her chest tightening. She felt like she’d been pried open, flayed and pinned down.

 

Mr. Snoke continued, “The only career you would be furthering in recording together is hers.” He clicked his pen, and turned to address her for the first time since greeting her. “Miss Johnson, do you have representation?”

 

“No,” she squeaked.

 

“And what path do you see your career taking? Are you going to sit as First Chair for the next forty years like your idol, Leia Organa?”

 

Her brows pulled together. “I… I don’t know.”

 

“You could sign her,” Ben rumbled. She snapped her head to look at him. His eyes were set on his agent, a pleading look. “You can help her. Shape her.”

 

Rey’s lips parted, watching Ben turn into someone completely different sitting in that chair. Someone who slouched forward, asking for permission, waiting for instruction instead of taking what he wanted.

 

Before Rey could say it herself, Mr. Snoke said, “Why would I do that? She’s no one.”

 

The room was still. Rey stared at the front of the desk, waiting for… something.

 

Mr. Snoke sighed. “Miss Johnson, would you mind waiting in the lobby for a few minutes? I need a moment with Kylo.”

 

She nodded, standing on shaking legs. She wanted to reach for him, to touch him, but he was still tense and staring at a point on the opposite wall.

 

“It was great meeting you, Mr. Snoke.” She moved to the door.

 

“Miss Johnson,” he said “If you have any interest in obtaining an agent, I would recommend you only do so if you intend to brand yourself. If you plan to further your career in the direction of recording, composing, or solo engagements, I can absolutely help you,” he said, lazily, like he had this discussion at least once a day with musicians coming in off the street. “Come back to me when you have 5,000 followers.”

 

So dismissive. And her stomach burned because she didn’t even want an agent. That’s not why she came here today. She’d been reduced to “no one” without even asking to be “someone” today.

 

Rey smirked, looked right into his eyes, and said, “Thanks, Mr. Snoke. But I’d prefer to work with someone who’d let me keep my own name.”

 

She pulled the door and marched the lobby. She flopped down on the black leather couch. The dark-haired boy behind the reception desk didn’t even look up at her. He was about Rey’s age, typing away on his phone, brushing his fingers through his long hair every few moments.

 

After five minutes, Ben emerged. She stood from the couch and followed him out into bright daylight. He flagged a cab and opened the door for her.

 

He didn’t take her hand during the ride. He stared out the window with his Ray-Bans on.

 

“There are other recording studios, Ben. We can go somewhere else if you really still want to—“

 

“I can’t record anywhere else. Contractually.”

 

She blinked at him. His lips pressed together in a thin line.

 

The cab pulled up outside his apartment building, and Ben gave the driver a twenty. He slid out, holding the door for her.

 

Everything about him implied that he’d like to be alone. Maybe hit something. Maybe go sit in a corner and growl.

 

They stood in the elevator, and she wondered if she should gather her phone charger and toothbrush and get out of his hair for a few days. But she also had a gnawing, twisting fear that if she left, she’d never see Ben Solo again.

 

He would disappear, leaving only Kylo Ren behind.

 

He opened the door, tossing his keys on the kitchen counter, and moving to the fridge to grab two water bottles. When he set one down for her, and still did not face her, she said, “So, let me guess. We’re taking a break?”

 

He turned to her, Ray-Bans still on, cap in mid-twist off the water bottle. She couldn’t see him, couldn’t read him. He just faced her with his glasses on, lips tight.

 

“He doesn’t want you seeing me anymore, right?” she asked, shrugging, letting her arms flop against her sides. She faced his living room. “I can go home, if you need space—“ Her voice broke, and she realized how much this choked her. The idea of him not choosing her. The idea of promising to be hers, and then leaving all the same. “We can talk after rehearsal on Monday. I just need a few minutes to grab—“

 

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

 

He moved around the kitchen island, coming to stand in front of her. He flipped his glasses back onto his head. His eyes burned, searching her, scared.

 

Rey blinked up at him. “I assume he told you to break up with me, or stop whatever it is we’re—“

 

“Fuck him,” Ben growled, panting against her forehead. “Do you want to go home?”

 

She stared up at him, watching his eyes flicker over her. “No.”

 

His hands came up, closing over her cheeks, as he stepped into her, pressing their bodies together. Rey gasped, and his tongue found hers. He walked them backward, pressing her into the wall in his entryway. His hands slid down the front of her, cupping her and squeezing her, rounding her hips to grab at her backside and pull her close. She groaned against his lips.

 

He lifted her, spinning until he put her down on the kitchen counter. His hands tumbled under her dress, pulling her hips to him. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and kissed him, thanking him, praising him, loving him.

 

A flutter of fabric as her dress was tugged off her. He kissed down her neck a scorching path, grinding against her hips.

 

The sound of his zipper against her harsh panting. The press of his fingers into her waist. The smell of his shampoo washing over both of them.

 

When he pushed into her, groaning and squeezing her, he pressed his lips to her ear and hissed, “I told you I belong to you.”

 

~*~

 

Rey woke up the next morning to sounds of a violin, an iced vanilla latte, and a very active phone screen.

 

Two missed calls from Finn. A text from Luke, asking for coffee. And a bundle of Instagram notifications.

 

Around midnight last night she’d been tagged in a photo that @Kylo_Ren had posted.

 

From their pancake-making adventure. She was in pajamas in his kitchen. Pancake mix all over her cheeks, her face mid-laugh, reaching out to swipe batter into his hair.

 

_You make me so happy @ReyofSunshine_

 

She slapped a hand over her mouth.

 

And even as she scrolled through the comments (mostly crying faces of jealousy or notes of congratulations), beneath the delirious joy she felt, there was something strange twisting through her mind.

 

Overnight, she now had 349 more followers.

 

And even as she wrapped her robe around herself, carrying her latte into the studio to listen to him play a love song, she wasn’t sure if that was all part of the plan.


	10. And my desires… E'er since pursue me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I LIVE.
> 
> Thanks every for your patience. A little bit of a short chapter, but I increased the chapter count! A good chunk of chapter 11 is written, so it will not be as long, but I am out of town next weekend. 
> 
> Huge thanks to [ KyloTrashForever ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KyloTrashForever) for the moodboard she felt inspired to make!

  
[](https://imgur.com/PJX12xP)

Rey’s eyes shot open, the remnants of an unpleasant dream twisted up in leathery skin and pale eyes drifting from her consciousness.

 

It was dark in the bedroom, and she was surprised to read 4:26AM on the clock.

 

She hadn’t had nightmares for several years now. No crushing moments of panic that shook her into the waking world since she was ten or so.

 

In the darkness, the heavy arm wrapped around her hip with fingers spread wide across her stomach pulled her close. The hot skin of a bare chest pressed against her back, and legs tangled up into hers, pulling her lower body close. Rey smiled. There had only been a few days where she’d woken up to find Ben still next to her in bed.

 

Ben Solo woke every day at 5AM, weekday or weekend. He pulled on sweats and sneakers, ran the stairwell three times before ending on the third floor at the gym where he’d spend forty-five minutes weight training. He’d return to his apartment, shower, and immediately move into his studio. Once or twice, he’d slid back into bed with her, his hair wet and tickling her stomach as he kissed down to her hips…

 

Ben rocked into her, his heavy cock pressing tight against her backside. Rey blushed.

 

She didn’t get how men worked. He’d come twice last night, less than six hours ago. And still here he was, lips sleepily grazing her neck, hips slowly shifting against her, fingers stretching across her skin.  Rey didn’t have sex dreams or pent up mornings any more. Not since Ben. And they were rare before.

 

His throat grumbled a needy sigh into her hair, lips smacking softly.

 

Rey chuckled and slid out of his grasp, rising to use the toilet.

 

He’d turned onto his back when she returned – one arm above his head on the pillow, one arm extended out to where her body should have been, the sheets kicked off of him, and his long legs stretched and curled, and his cock… heavy and twitching against his thigh.

 

Rey stood in the doorway to his bathroom, and just stared. There were very few times where she felt she could just take him in, drinking in his skin and following the tracks of his muscles. She felt like she should demand an hour a day from him – an hour where he just stood naked before her and did exactly what she said.

 

As if in response to her wandering eyes, Ben’s head rolled to the side, the hand that stretched for her returning to his body to land low against his stomach. She grinned. He was clearly still asleep, because there was no way Ben Solo would let her see his mouth open and lips smacking up his drool while conscious.

 

Rey glanced at the clock. Half an hour before his low, vibrating alarm went off. She was sure he wouldn’t mind…

 

Creeping her way back to the bed, Rey’s pulse trembled and something delicious twisted low in her belly. Careful not to disturb the mattress, she crawled and kneeled next to his hips.

 

She’d only done this once before – thanks a lot, Kevin Peters – so she hoped she had even the tiniest idea of what to do.

 

She dipped her head, kissing his hipbone just below his fingertips. A glance up at his face showed him still asleep. She kissed him there again, lips parting and tongue tasting him, sucking at the skin. His cock twitched next to her cheek.

 

With careful eyes on his face, she wrapped her fingers around the base of him, drifting up and down, brushing her thumb under the head like he liked. His lips parted, and he let out the cutest little kitten mewl she’d ever heard. Rey bit down on her knuckle to keep from laughing out.

 

She dipped her head, and ran her tongue over the tip of him, checking with him. Fast asleep. Sweeping her tongue along the sides of him, Rey felt him swell. Looking at him up close like this was… intriguing. And terrifying. How the fuck did this thing fit inside—

 

His legs stretched out, hips opening, as her tongue focused on his head, giving her the perfect space to settle between his legs. She crawled over his thigh, running her fingers across the soft skin of his stomach, swirling down over his abdomen and resuming her progress. From this position, she could watch his face and wait for him to wake up.

 

She took him in her mouth – just the first few inches – and tried to wrap her hand around the rest of him, stroking as her lips and tongue worked. She watched his stomach muscles tighten and release, hearing tiny groans pouring from his lips into the pillow.

 

There was a part of her that still couldn’t believe she got to wake up next to Ben, much less make him groan like that. Her mouth sucked at the head of him as she wondered what it was going to be like when rehearsals started again tomorrow. How was she supposed to sit across from him, knowing what he sounded like when he came, knowing the way he begged for things from her even when he was in control, pounding into her. Knowing the way his eyes darkened when her clothes came off.

 

His hips jumped, pushing his cock deeper into her mouth. “Fuck, Rey…”

 

He pulled up on his elbows, watching her with a dazed fascination. She’d missed him waking up, too intent on sucking him.

 

“Fuck,” he breathed. “What are you doing?”

 

She pulled off of him, letting her hand slide along his slippery length. “What does it look like I’m doing?” She smirked, and dipped her head back down.

 

When she licked up the long vein, eyes on him, he let out a low, “Oh, fuck,” and dropped his head back to the pillow, hands reaching for her and then snapping away, curling against his eyes as his stomach clenched with every pant from his lips.

 

“Am I doing okay?” she asked, breathing hotly against him. “Is there something more—“

 

“Don’t stop.” He moaned into his hands. And once Rey smiled and slipped her lips around him again, his fingers twisted in her hair, pulling her down on him. She took as much of him as she could, trying to suck on the way back up, but he cursed, dragged her mouth off of him, pulled her up by her arms, and rolled them so he was on top. Rey was breathless by the time he’d lined his cock up to her entrance, and whispered, “Can I please?”

 

She jerked her head in a nod, and exhaled a low moan as he slid inside in one swift thrust. She barely had time to adjust before he was pushing in again, a quick pace that had her lips parting and her eyes squeezing shut.

 

His torso lowered against hers, and his arms wrapped under hers and onto her shoulders, holding her close as his hips fucked into hers.

 

“Fucking… _god_ , Rey.”

 

She held on tight as his hips snapped, filling her up deliciously on every thrust, faster and faster, and Rey felt the curling inside of her, twisting from her toes to her fingers. She moaned into his ear while he whispered filthy things into hers.

 

And then abruptly, he was gone, pulling out, shooting across her stomach with one quick jerk of his hand, as if he’d barely made it out before coming inside of her. Rey panted, feeling so close to the edge, but also knowing that she’d started this to get _him_ off, so…

 

But then one hand was on her knee, pushing her open, and the other sliding inside of her, two thick fingers pummeling into her as fast as his hips had been. She gasped, and watched his arms shake, barely coming down from his ending before coming back to her. Her thighs tensed, and his free hand moved to her clit, flicking quickly.

 

She groaned his name as her fingers twisted in the sheets and her cunt clenched around his fingers, still curling inside of her at the spot that made her lose her breath. His hands didn’t stop throughout, letting her hips ride him and her eyes squeeze shut and her lips shouting curses. Still cresting, still riding the wave, his thumb on her clit kept pushing rough circles and the fingers inside of her kept a quick rhythm.

 

Her walls contracted again, and as she screamed out she brought her hands to his, holding them to keep them still. He pulled out of her, laced their fingers, and pressed them up by her head as he swept down to kiss her panting lips. His come was drying on her belly still when she was able to catch her breath and kiss him back.

 

~*~

 

Rey was quite right to worry about how rehearsal would go on Monday. With Ben’s Instagram post – his first in three weeks – about 75% of the Orchestra now knew that they… made pancakes together.

 

As the rehearsal studio came closer, Ben still walked holding Rey’s hand (he’d tried to carry her violin case along with his own cello case, and that’s where she’d drawn the line). She thought maybe they would detach now? Hugh and Caroline in the trumpet section were married, but they didn’t come in hand-in-hand. Maybe she and Ben should enter separately, like they didn’t wake up in the same apartment this morning…

 

And then he was pulling the door for her, and the room was turning to greet them, and yes, there were knowing smiles and some of the younger girls did give her a thumbs up, but really… the world didn’t end.

 

And then Luke turned from the coffee and tea table, eyes glancing down to where their hands laced together. And Rey felt cold again.

 

~*~

 

Rey had insisted that she really needed to at least _visit_ her Harlem apartment, seeing as she hadn’t been there in a week, content to let Ben buy her a few things to wear when they weren’t naked in his apartment together. He’d consented to separating on Monday, but when she casually mentioned that she would be getting a late lunch with Luke after rehearsal, he had nodded, swallowing and kicking his shoes against the kitchen tile.

 

Perhaps he didn’t want Luke bursting this happy, sexy bubble they’d created.

 

She’d agreed when Luke had asked over the weekend, and she assumed they needed to debrief before the Christmas Concert rehearsals really picked up.

 

But she wasn’t prepared for the “So, you and Ben?” as she sipped her piping hot tea.

 

Rey calmly scorched her own throat, swallowing like she had not a concern in the world.

 

“Yeah…”

 

“You didn’t have to lie to me,” Luke said with a grin. “When I asked you if you two were… friendly.”

 

“I didn’t.” She pressed her napkin to her lips. “I just… It was fast, that’s all. We weren’t friends.” She looked down at the table awkwardly. “I mean, we’re friends _now_ , of course… obviously…”

 

Luke watched her with kind eyes. “As long as you’re careful. I want you to be happy.”

 

“I am. Happy”—and as an afterthought—“and careful.” Even though she wondered what that meant.

 

“Do you think he’ll be joining us for Thanksgiving?” Luke stirred his tea, innocently checking the menu.

 

Rey blinked at him. She hadn’t even thought about Thanksgiving. Or Christmas. Or… President’s Day. For family gatherings, you were supposed to bring your… partner. Right? They were supposed to do these events together?

 

But Rey was already at his family’s house. For the past five years, she’d gone to Leia’s. She wondered what Ben did on those days. Maybe he went to his father’s?

 

“I, uh… I don’t know. We haven’t talked about it.” She stared down into her teacup.

 

“He’s been invited every year,” Luke clarified. “He just never shows.”

 

Rey nodded. That checked out. “I’ll ask and let Leia know,” she said. Then she asked the question that had been weighing on her for three days. “Are there benefits to getting an agent at this point in my career?”

 

The teacup stopped on the way to Luke’s lips. His cool blue eyes turned sharp as steel, and he said, “He took you to Snoke?”

 

She blinked at him, feeling like she’d done something wrong. “We met him, yeah. But not as an interview. To record ‘Fugue No. 1’ at his studios.”

 

“Did you sign anything? Any kind of document with him?” Luke’s teacup clattered to the saucer. His hands folded under his chin, and he studied Rey like she was under a microscope.

 

“No. Nothing. He… didn’t want to sign me. Not unless I had a social media presence,” she said. She looked down at her napkin, feeling more and more like she was in trouble.

 

“Stay away from Peter Snoke, Rey.”

 

Her head snapped up. “No, no. I don’t want to sign with him. I just meant _any_ agent—“

 

“Does Kylo want you to sign with Snoke?”

 

And Rey couldn’t help but notice the switch from “Ben” to “Kylo.” She shook her head, trying to forget her suspicions about the mysterious Instagram post. “No… I don’t think so. He was just…. We were just trying to record.”

 

When Luke didn’t respond, she looked back up at him. He was staring off over her shoulder, eyes tight, lips turned down, lost in some distant thought.

 

And she wondered if Ben Solo had sat in a similar lunch with Luke Skywalker, talking about futures and agents and warnings. He’d been the same age she was now when he’d left Julliard to follow Snoke.

 

Rey reached across the table and covered Luke’s hand. “I’m not going to sign with Snoke. He didn’t impress me. I just wanted to know, from my mentor, if an agent was something to consider.”

 

She watched him relax back into his chair. He squeezed her hand, and released her. “Do you see yourself playing engagements? Maybe in the summer, after the Pops season has wrapped?” He sipped from his tea again.

 

Rey considered. Her career had developed so quick, it was hard to tell what she even saw in her future anymore.

 

“I don’t know. I really like the Pops, and I really like First Chair. But I guess I’ve always wanted to be a soloist.” She looked up at him, still seeking permission. “I could do both right? I wouldn’t have to choose?”

 

He smiled. “The one thing I know to be true, Rey, is that you can do anything.”

 

Her chest warmed, and whatever tension had wound its way between them evaporated.

 

They started talking through the Christmas Concert, the arrangements and the guest singers. Luke told her he wanted to give her another solo at some point, maybe the arrangement in Silent Night, or maybe Rey could duet with the guest vocalist in “Baby, It’s Cold Outside.” Her head spun, hearing the music between her ears already.

 

So, she was completely unprepared for Luke to sign the bill, close the leather folder, and say, “Just one more thing. If you ever feel unsafe… If things get tricky, I want you to call me. I’ll be there in an instant.”

 

She blinked at him. “Unsafe?”

 

“If Ben ever becomes violent,” he clarified.

 

Rey jerked back from the table, feeling her ribs rattling. She stared at him. “Violent. That’s not… He wouldn’t, Luke. What are you even—“

 

“We both know that’s not true, Rey,” he said patiently. Rey felt her blood humming. “You’ve seen it.”

 

A flash of the day he threw his chair across the room, colliding with the snacks table before walking out of rehearsal. The thumping sound of something hitting the wall inside Luke’s office and the crash of a picture frame.

 

“That’s completely different. He’s would never hurt another person, much less _me_ —“

 

“He hit me, Rey,” Luke said with harsh eyes. “He broke my jaw… about eight years ago. After he destroyed Maz’s studio and smashed my father’s violin – the only thing he left me besides the Pops.”

 

Rey’s head spun, hearing this all for the first time.

 

Luke continued, “He can become very violent—“

 

“It sounds like he’s only violent around you,” Rey snapped.

 

She watched it land on him. Something ignited in her chest. The way he implied that Ben was some kind of animal who could hurt her when he knew nothing about Ben anymore.

 

He sat back, looking down at his teacup. “Perhaps you’re right.” He sniffed. “I’m just looking out for you.”

 

“Why?” Rey hissed, hearing her pulse in her ears. “You’re not my father. You’ve never wanted to be before. Why start now?”

 

The clink of a spoon at another table. A cough from the corner. It felt like she’d silenced the whole restaurant.

 

Luke’s eyes flickered between hers. He cleared his throat. “You’re right. I’m not. But you _are_ as good as a daughter to me. I do care about you, Rey—“

 

“Not enough to adopt me.” Her voice shook, hidden fears and wants surfacing from years ago. The dream of one day being told to pack up her things – _Mr. Skywalker is taking you home_. “You could have applied to foster me.”

 

Luke frowned at her, like the idea had never crossed his mind before. It cut across Rey’s soul like the slice of a knife.

 

“Rey, when I met you, you were practically an adult. You could already take care of yourself.”

 

“But that doesn’t mean I had a family!”

 

He reached across the table for her, and she jerked her hand away.

 

“Leia and I are your family,” he said. “I didn’t know you needed a piece of paper to finalize that.”

 

“It’s not about a piece of paper,” she said, feeling tears in her eyes. “It’s about no one ever _wanting_ me. Ben is the first person”—her throat cracked—“the first person who wants me. I finally belong to someone, and you want me to be fucking _careful?_ ”

 

She panted, begging the tears to disappear back inside of her. Luke stared at her with wide eyes. But it felt like a dam had been opened, and not even the near silence in the restaurant could hold her back.  

 

“I’m starting to wonder if you care about me at all, or if you’re just interested in what I can _do_ for you. For the Pops. For your reputation as the ‘Great Luke Skywalker,’ champion of the downtrodden. _Claiming_ me in your speeches. Sounding like you found me in the dirt, brushed me off, and made me new again.”

 

Something clicked behind Luke’s eyes, turning his gaze cold on her.

 

“Now you’re sounding like Ben. Has he been talking like this?”

 

And she realized she was close to the truth earlier when she’d thought about a twenty-one-year-old Ben Solo having a similar conversation with his mentor.

 

“No, he hasn’t,” she said. She reached for her bag and violin, standing. “But maybe he’s right. You know, Luke, if lightning strikes you twice, maybe the problem isn’t the weather. Maybe it’s you.”

 

Her chair skidded back. She marched out into the hot Autumn air.

 

Rey felt the tears streaming down her face, pushing through the Manhattan crowds. She zoomed in and out of the wandering tourists, heading for nowhere. The tension inside of her plucked at the strings of her heart, twisting her lungs and threatening to crack inside of her. She slapped away a tear as it fell, hitching her bag on her shoulder.

 

She stopped. The subway she needed was the opposite direction, back next to the restaurant. She was so used to heading back to Ben’s that—

 

She pushed her hands into her eyes, stopped dead in the middle of the sidewalk, and cursed herself for wanting to go to him. For wanting him to hold her.

 

Turning and bumping into all the tourists she’d just forced her way through, Rey trudged back to the A train.

 

She rounded the corner, ready to descend into the bowels of New York when she caught sight of the back of Luke – his arm lifted, calling a cab in front of the restaurant.

 

Luke who _had_ been there, even if it wasn’t one hundred percent of what she needed from a person.

 

Luke who’d taught her how to play violin for free.

 

Luke who’d opened his sister’s home to her on every family holiday.

 

He glanced behind him as the cab pulled up, and saw her half a block away.

 

Rey couldn’t breathe with the sorrow she felt, cracking her open as she stood on the sidewalk, holding her violin case and sobbing.

 

Luke waved off the car, and walked to her, taking her in his arms once he was close enough, whispering to her about how sorry he was and how loved she was.

 

“I’m sorry,” she choked.

 

He stroked her hair and said, “No. It seems like you’ve needed to let that out for a long time. It seems like I needed to hear it.”

 

She cried until she couldn’t any longer, and then he called a cab for them both, escorting her uptown as they sat in silence.

 

~*~ 

 

She trudged up the stairs to her shared apartment with Finn. It felt like her muscles had atrophied after all this time using Ben’s elevator; she’d forgotten how hard five flights of stairs can be. She panted on the last stairs, turned the corner, and found a tall hulking figure pacing aimlessly in front of her door.

 

Ben turned as she climbed to the top, his hand running through his hair. “I… You left your phone charger. So, I…”

 

And sure enough, hanging limply from his fingertips, as flimsy as the excuse, was the charger and cord.

 

Seeing him was like fresh water, and Rey had to wonder if there was a way one could become addicted to another person.

 

She watched him swallow. Watched him run another hand through his hair, waiting for her to speak. Maybe waiting for her to give him the results of her lunch with Luke – if it was time to end things.

 

He’d come for her. Afraid of losing her.

 

She gave him a slow smile, and moved to him, rising on her toes to wrap her arms around him. So glad to have him holding her.

 

He pulled her close, brushing her hair back, looking in her eyes. “Is everything okay?”

 

She kissed him, a soft brush of her lips. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

 

His eyes softened. And his thumb passed along her cheekbone, probably pushing away her smeared mascara.

 

“Are we okay?” he whispered.

 

And his words echoed to her.

 

_There’s never been anyone… no one who could be mine._

 

They were scarily similar, weren’t they? She breathed in the scent of him, knowing exactly what he needed to hear, and happy to offer it to him.

 

“I love you,” she breathed against his lips. “I belong to you.”

 

A few seconds of his eyes adjusting, dilating and opening to drink her in. Warm brown drowning her. A sharp breath against her lips.

 

“Rey, I—“

 

“Don’t,” she stopped him with a needy kiss. “Show me, please.”

 

She pushed into his mouth, her tongue sliding against his, pining him to the wall with her body.

 

His hands dragged low across her back, filling with her backside and squeezing her close. She sighed a breathy moan into him, her hands sliding down to his belt.

 

“Do you want to go inside?” he asked as she unzipped him.

 

“It’s the fifth floor. No one ever comes up here.”

 

He kissed her, taking her face in his large hands and turning them until she was pressed back against the wall.

 

Her sundress up around her hips, his hands on her thighs, lifting her off the ground.

 

They’d been in a bed all week. She wanted something else. Something that felt more like them. Something unstoppable.

 

She guided him to her entrance as his arms held her up. He pressed their foreheads together and rocked into her.

 

Her hands slid up into his hair, and when he buried himself inside and murmured, “love you,” she listened to it ricochet down the stairwell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on [ Tumblr ](https://lovesbitca8.tumblr.com/) and [ Twitter ](https://twitter.com/).


	11. Surfeiting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys. I have NEVER gone this long without updating a fic, and I apologize on behalf of my severe writer's block.
> 
> This is the second to last chapter! I may have an epilogue, or I may add it into the final chapter. I'm not sure yet. 
> 
> Check out [ 2Cellos ](https://youtu.be/qew2m1UdbXk?t=3425) for Knights of Ren inspiration. Dominic was inspired by Dominic Monaghan.

Rey couldn’t stand Armitage Hux the first time she met him, and she certainly could stand him no less the second.

 

“It’s just that the Beatles were only about popular music. It was never artistry,” his voice whined, floating above the glasses of whiskey and wine in this strange artist’s loft Rey found herself in, celebrating Halloween on November 3rd. 

 

“So ‘Yesterday,’ ‘Eleanor Rigby,’ and ‘Hey Jude’ have no artistry to them?” she asked, lifting a brow while Ben rubbed her back to soothe her. 

 

“See!” Hux pointed at her like she’d stolen his lunch. “You’re accrediting McCartney’s genius to the group as a whole.” He smiled like he’d won something. He wore his normal clothes tonight, and told anyone asking that he was a “Muggle.” It made Rey’s eye twitch.

 

“So, you’re a McCartney fan at least?” she said.

 

“Not particularly, no,” he muttered into his white wine. 

 

Rey didn’t know it was possible to crave a murder-suicide this deeply. 

 

“Let me introduce you to Carlos,” Ben said, already steering her to the other side of the room. 

 

Rey usually did Halloween… a little differently than this. Usually she and Finn dressed up as something cartoony and volunteered to hand out candy at orphanages or children’s hospitals before changing into something sexier and heading downtown to the clubs. 

 

But Ben’s Halloween traditions were a bit more… 

 

What was the opposite of fun?

 

She had popped out of the bathroom that evening dressed as a sexy Ninja Turtle, and Ben had winced. 

 

“It’s... not really that type of party,” he’d said. 

 

Her arms had dropped. “I thought you said it was a costume party?”

 

But when she’d realized he was in dark jeans, a black Henley, and a Phantom of the Opera mask (not even a fucking cape), Rey deduced that her cat ears would be put to good use that evening. 

 

Even now, as Ben walked her over to the snacks, his mask hung limply by his fingertips, costume forgotten. 

 

“Ben, this is by far the  _ worst _ Post-Halloween-Non-Costume Party I’ve ever been to.”

 

“Have you been to many?”

 

She sent him a glare as he tapped someone on the shoulder. The drummer from the Knights of Ren turned around. Rey’s eyes widened and she said, “Carlos!”

 

Ben looked down at her quizzically. 

 

“Hey,” Carlos said with an easy grin, like girls usually just  _ knew his name without meeting him _ .

 

“I—I’m sorry, hi.” Rey stuck out her hand. “I’m Rey. This is Ben.”

 

Carlos blinked at her, then looked up to Ben, while Rey realized that she’d just introduced Ben to his own drummer.

 

“I’m sorry, you knew that,” she said, laughing. “Um, yeah. Hi.”

 

Carlos sipped from his glass, emanating “cool” like most drummers do. “What’s up, Rey? I’ve heard a lot about you.”

 

“Thanks, yeah. You, too. Um…”

 

“Are you feeling alright?” Ben asked. His hand tightened on her hip. 

 

“I was just surprised.”

 

“Do you drink, Rey?” Carlos cut in. When she nodded he said, “Great. Let’s get some liquor in you. I think Dom knows where the tequila is.”

 

He sauntered to the kitchen, and Rey’s eyes bugged out. “Dom as in Dominic?!”

 

_ The violinist?? _

 

Dominic was the wacky one. The one who really lived that “rock star” life onstage, headbanging and playing other people’s instruments mid-song. And when he turned around, lime in his mouth, his brows shot up and he spit the lime across the room before planting his lips on hers with a wet “mwah!” sound. 

 

“Rey!  _ The _ Rey!”

 

“Hi! I’m Rey!” 

 

“You’re  _ stunning, _ angel—”

 

“I’m a huge fan— I mean, I really like your work—”

 

“Your duet with Ben was just—”

 

“Oh my god, you we  _ there? _ ”

 

 “Of course, baby!”

 

Rey looked to Ben, eyes bright and energetic. Ben stared down at her strangely as she continued chatting with Dominic animatedly. 

 

She hadn’t really mentioned to him just how big of a fan she was of the Knights of Ren. It had only come up in that interview for the  _ New York Times _ , and she wasn’t about to play her Knights of Ren playlist while baking Halloween cookies in Ben’s kitchen.

 

But slowly realizing that every member of the band was here at this awful Halloween party made the entire evening much more tolerable. Each of them knew who she was on sight, leading her to believe that Ben was rather loose-lipped around the people he was comfortable with. 

 

After hearing five times that “Ben is really happy, Rey” in voices whispered conspiratorially against her ear, she led Ben to a corner of the loft, free from Armitage Hux or Bazine Bitch-Face, and kissed him until he was hard against her stomach. He tugged her into the guest bathroom, swept aside the half-filled glasses left behind by impolite party-goers, and started unbuttoning her jeans as she leaned against the counter.

 

“Bet you wish I was still wearing my Ninja Turtle skirt now, huh?” she said, laughing until his hand slipped inside her underwear to circle her clit, making her gasp and clutch his shirt.

  
~*~

 

Convincing Ben to join his mother and uncle for Thanksgiving was harder than Rey had imagined it would be. 

 

_ Well… I usually run the Turkey Trot in the morning with Gwen… And then I’d have to shower… _

 

_ I usually go to Dominic’s around one, so maybe I could drop in after. _

 

_ My mother likes to serve dinner at three, so I might miss it altogether.  _

 

Rey finally told him that  _ she _ would be heading to Leia’s at noon, and he was free to join her. She then slammed the door harder than necessary. 

 

Ben found a savior in the form of a cancellation. Three days before Thanksgiving, the Knights got an offer for a last minute gig from a Boston venue that was hosting several bands for the evening of Thanksgiving. A portion of the ticket sales was going to a local soup kitchen. Boston had been a hugely successful city on their recent tour, so this was bound to boost sales for the concert. 

 

“Well, that’s an easy out for you,” she said, chuckling as she turned back to the Thanksgiving-themed cookies she was laying on the baking sheet in his kitchen. 

 

“Will you come?”

 

The turkey she way laying down turned into a blob. 

 

“To Boston?” She blinked at him. He leaned on the kitchen island, pretending to open his mail. 

 

“Yeah”—he shrugged down at a Guitar Center mailer—“I mean, you’ve never seen us live. It could be... It’ll probably be a good show. I don’t know the other groups well, but...”

 

And the whole time his eyes were down on his fingers, separating bills and junk mail. He was trying not to show how much he wanted her there, and failing badly. 

 

“Yeah,” she said. “Yeah, I’d love to see you live.” The tips of his ears turned pink, and he nodded down at a Mexican restaurant menu. “Do the other significant others usually come? Will I be alone in the audience?” She chuckled. 

 

“No, I mean, you can... you can watch backstage, if you want.” He pressed his lips together, like it didn’t matter either way to him. She smiled. 

 

“As long as you don’t plan to pull me onstage to play ‘Fugue No. 1’ with you and end up turning me into a star” she said, turning to the oven with the full baking sheet. “I’ve seen that movie. It doesn’t end well.”

 

He came up behind her as she watched the little turkeys and leaves through the oven door, slipping his arms around her waist. 

 

“Gaga was robbed,” he whispered into her hair. “That Oscar was hers.”

  
~*~

 

“You have a car in Manhattan?”

 

He turned over his shoulder, clicking the key into a delightful  _ bloop bloop _ that echoed around his building’s private garage. “Will you hate me if I say I have two?”

 

She frowned at him. “Yes. Yes, I will.”

 

Rey had gone over to Leia’s that morning when Ben had been at the Thanksgiving Day run. She’d dropped off the cookies and expressed her regret that she couldn’t be there for dinner. It wasn’t until she said, “I’m headed to Boston—” that Rey realized she was speaking to Ben’s mother… For the first time since she’d started fucking him.

 

Leia had smirked at her as Rey had stuttered over their plans for the weekend, and then she’d conned Rey into sitting down for a taste of the yams with a side of motherly prying.

 

Right to the point, Leia had said, “I didn’t get to talk with you much after the October concert. Have you been seeing each other long?”

 

Rey had stuffed her mouth with the largest spoonful of yams she could manage and gave herself an extra ten seconds to think before replying, “No, it’s pretty new.” 

 

Rey tossed her bag in the back of Ben’s Porsche, and asked him about the truck he’d driven to Gwen and Dopheld’s wedding.

 

“That’s my father’s,” he said. 

 

Rey looked over at him as he pressed the button to start the car. “Oh.” She itched to ask him more. He talked about his dad even less than he talked about his mother, so Rey was starved for information.

 

“I stayed at his place the night before the wedding. Luckily, I had that old cello in my old room.”

 

Biting back a laugh at “old cello” seeing as it was a beautiful instrument and in perfect condition when she played it, Rey nodded and waited for him to offer any more information.

 

He didn’t. He pulled onto the Manhattan streets with ease, and took them north to Boston. Rey slept for most of the trip, having been force-fed turkey that morning as well in an effort to keep her talking about Ben. But when she was awake, she watched Ben drive. 

 

It was… very sexy. 

 

He wore his Ray-Bans, and drummed his long fingers on the steering wheel as the Porsche purred underneath them. He played with the speed limit when the highways were open, and ran his frustrated fingers through his hair in the stop-and-go traffic.

 

By the time they reached the hotel, Rey was rather keyed up. She took all of three seconds to admire the huge suite they were staying in before turning to Ben. “How long do you have before you’re needed at sound check?”

 

He placed their bags down on the couch. “Mm, about”—he checked his watch absentmindedly, unaware of the fire in her gaze—“forty-five minutes before Carlos is supposed to—”

 

Rey wrapped herself around him, hands slipping through his hair as she kissed him deeply. His hands hesitated before sliding across her back. He pulled away grinning, and said, “You wanna mess up the sheets before tonight?”

 

“No.” She panted against his lips. “Not the sheets. Anywhere but the sheets.”

 

His eyes darkened, and he worked at her jeans as she tugged off her top. He carried her to the couch and dragged his shirt off his shoulders before dropping to his knees before her.

 

“Ben, please. Just fuck me. I’m so worked up—”

 

“Shh.” He kissed up her thigh, sucking wetly on the way up toward the lacy underwear he’d bought her last week. “Just relax.”

 

That was the opposite of what was possible at this point. He teased her with his lips for far too long, kissing at the lace and refusing to move it to the side. Her fingers dug at his scalp, begging for him to work her the way she knew he could. 

 

“Why are you so wet, Rey?”

 

She threw her head back against the couch and groaned. “I like your car.”

 

He burst out laughing, and the sound warmed her chest, making her laugh too.

  
~*~

 

When they arrived at the venue for sound check, Dominic greeted her with a hug that lifted her off the ground. 

 

“She’s mine now, Solo,” he said over her shoulder. “I’ve captured her.”

 

Rey laughed and said her hellos to the rest of the band as they trickled in. Mac’s girlfriend was there too, but she would be watching from the audience with her parents. Bazine was absent, which Rey appreciated. Gwen was actually their tour manager, Snoke’s eyes and ears at the venues, making sure all contract negotiations were met. Gwen was not impressed to hear that Rey would be watching backstage, and even less impressed when Ben tasked  _ her _ with finding out from the crew where Rey was supposed to stand.

 

She watched a sound check for the first time, enthralled by the many moving parts that went into it. Ben seemed bored with the whole process, while Dominic kept getting distracted by showing off tricks on his violin for Rey. Carlos never showed, which was unsurprising for the rest of them. 

 

On their way out, the next group was coming in for their sound check, and Ben and Mac spent a few minutes chatting with the band, like they usually ran into each other at these types of things. Rey hadn’t heard of them, but she didn’t like the way the female lead singer was eyeing Ben. Rey made a show of grabbing Ben’s hand when the girl laughed and touched his arm.

 

They went with Jaden, Dom, and Gwen to a quick dinner before heading back, and Rey could hardly believe how much the boys ate when only an hour away from a performance. She could never eat before a Pops concert. 

 

“How did you all meet?” Rey asked when she and Ben were walking back to the venue.

 

“Snoke found them. He created the group.”

 

Rey looked up at him, feeling her stomach turn unpleasantly. 

 

“Oh. Do you all get along though?” 

 

“Yeah,” Ben said, guiding her across the street. “Jason had a problem with me from the beginning though.” And just before Rey tried to ask which one Jason was and why she hadn’t met him yet, Ben said, “So Snoke replaced him. We found Mac.”

 

He pulled the stage door open for her, and as she walked through, blaring sunlight switching abruptly to backstage dimness, her mind worked quickly.

 

“So, if they don’t get along with you, they’re fired?” She laughed. But when he pulled off his Ray-Bans and looked down at her, she realized it wasn’t a joke. It was a fact.

 

He looked down, a bit guiltily. “Well, it’s called the Knights of Ren. I’m Ren.”

 

She nodded, not wanting to press it.

 

The concert was an evening of three groups, each playing a forty-five minute set. When the Knights of Ren joined a few days before, ticket sales skyrocketed, selling out the rest of the auditorium, so the venue put them as the final act. While they waited in the dressing room for their slot, they played poker, created music, and joked around. 

 

Rey loved it. Gwen would check in every so often, but Rey was just sitting in a room full of men who were eager to impress her or get her attention or take jabs at her boyfriend. She’d never been this full of joy, just lounging around with the five musicians she’d been listening to for years. 

 

When it was time for them to take the stage, Ben brought Rey to the stage manager to tell her where to stand. He held her face in his hands and kissed her as the rest of the band entered the stage in the dim red lights. She heard people starting to scream as Ben’s lips parted from hers. He gave her a wink and a smile, and when he turned around and strolled onstage, the noise thundered. The lights flashed, Carlos counted them in, and when the sound boomed from the speakers, she watched as Kylo Ren slid his bow across the strings of his thin red cello.

 

“Back in Black” soared through the speakers. Kylo Ren played the riffs in the opening with his bow, his fingers moving dexterously over the strings. Dominic did most of the connecting with the crowd, creeping down towards the edge of the stage, touching the fingers of the audience’s reaching hands. Jaden and Mac played keyboard and bass, respectively, holding down the accompaniment as Kylo took lead on most songs. 

 

She shivered with the thrum of energy. Rey had never been to a rock concert before, only classical music in auditoriums with padded seats. She peeked out the curtain and found a hundred people standing at the edge of the stage, jumping and dancing. She almost wished Ben had gotten her cleared for the floor, just so she could watch from the front. She’d certainly dressed the part: ripped black jeans and a ribbed band t-shirt.

 

Looking back out to him onstage, she smiled. Ben was electric, almost a different person. He was Kylo Ren. He flipped his hair at the end of a phrase, and she laughed, knowing the movement so well. 

 

The speakers vibrated her entire body. The lights flashed across her face in their automated pathways across the stage. She watched them wind their way through a U2 cover, the entire crowd singing along with them. At the end of it, he looked over to her with the smile that stirred her desire and made her stomach flip in circles. 

 

As the crowd cheered for them, and Dominic riled them up with a call and repeat, Ben crossed to her, exiting the stage to drag her face to his. She squeaked, laughing when he kissed her, biting at her and running his hands over her breasts and hips. 

 

“What are you doing!” she laughed. “You can’t just take a break to kiss your girlfriend!”

 

“Watch me,” he growled, grabbing her ass and grinding her into his front. 

 

An amplified voice caught her attention — “And once Kylo is done humping his girlfriend, we can get back to it.”

 

She gasped, seeing Dominic giving her a shit-eating grin from the stage. Ben huffed against her neck and turned back to glare at him. He held her face in his large hands and kissed her one last time before returning to the stage.

 

Jaden and Mac were holding each other close, mocking them, running their hands all over each other. Rey blushed and pressed her fingers to her lips. 

 

As Ben grabbed Ruby again and prepped for their next song, a humming of noise caught her ear.

 

“Rey!”

 

“I love you, Rey!”

 

“It’s Rey!”

 

She frowned, peeking out from behind the curtain to see who could possibly—

 

And the noise slammed against her ears. So different from the acoustics of Carnegie Hall with its 3,000 pairs of stodgy hands clapping together.  _ This _ noise… This noise was electric. She waved, and smiled from where she stood at the edge of the stage, and five hundred young people screamed.

 

Rey laughed. She looked over to Ben. The look he was giving her was intoxicating, something so pleased and proud, but just riding that line of animalistic and predatory and  _ mine _ .

 

She winked at him and looked back to the audience, giving another wave before turning to disappear back to her spot behind the curtain. 

 

_ Rey! _

 

_ Rey! _

 

_ Rey! _

 

_ Rey! _

 

_ Rey! _

 

She laughed and waved again, unsure what they wanted. Until she turned her smiling eyes back to Ben, and found Dominic extending his electric violin to her.

 

They screamed. 

 

It had to be a joke. She shook her head at Dominic, shouting at him over the noise, “No!” Then she turned to Ben and mouthed, “I told you, no!”

 

He smiled and gestured to the audience that was still screaming her name.

 

Rey felt the thundering in her chest. And she stepped onstage.

 

The light hit her as she accepted Dominic’s violin. He squeezed her arm and gestured for her to take the stage. Rey looked to Ben. He grinned at her, eyes flicking down to the violin.

 

_ I wanted to play electric violin _ — her excuse for why she’d gone to his apartment that day.

 

And now she would. In front of a crowd. 

 

“What do you want to play?” Dominic yelled over the noise.

 

Rey had no fucking idea. 

 

Did Ben want to play “Fugue No. 1” with her? Here? She couldn’t imagine Snoke would be happy about that.

 

A smile crossed her face. She could think of something Snoke would be even  _ less _ happy about...

 

Rey looked down at the set list on the ground. 

 

“Smells Like Teen Spirit” was next. 

 

And suddenly all of those years listening to the Knights of Ren —  playing along with Dominic in her room, watching videos of Kylo Ren flipping his hair…

 

She looked back to Carlos, the drummer, and he twirled his sticks at her, ready to go.

 

Biting her lip, she looked back to Ben, and lifted the bow to the electric violin. Dominic always started “Smells Like Teen Spirit,” and everyone else joined in. She knew this already. So, when she pulled the bow and the opening melody shook the auditorium, she watched Ben’s eyes soften in surprise, before blazing passionately as Carlos came in with the drum fill.

 

Dominic was laughing, staring at her in awe. Starting a joking bit of “Hey, now! Don’t replace me!” nonsense. 

 

Rey winked at him, and returned her focus to Ben, who was sitting center stage, dragging the melody across Ruby, as the song dropped into the first verse. 

 

That predatory look was back, like he could fuck her right now, in the middle of this stage with the entire audience watching, and not give a damn.

 

The chorus escalated, and she knew that Dominic took lead on that, while Mac and Ben supported him. She hit the entrance strong, playing the melody she’d memorized years ago.

 

_ With the lights out, it’s less dangerous. _

_ Here we are now, entertain us. _

 

She had to block out the screaming and the flashing lights and just focus on the band and the music. 

 

Before she could even process, the song was over, and Ben was moving towards her as the crowd screamed for her, sweeping her up and kissing her in front of them all. 

 

She wrapped her legs around his waist as her feet left the ground, and let the noise and the feeling of his body intoxicate her. 

 

He pulled back long enough to whisper against her lips, “I’m gonna fuck until you scream tonight.”

 

“Back atcha.” She grinned as he pressed into her mouth again. 

 

Dominic was on the mic, making jokes about packing his bags and getting out of everyone’s hair so Rey could officially take his place. Ben lowered her down, and Rey extended his violin back to Dominic, ready to wave to the audience and head backstage to cool down. But Dominic shook his head at her, and grabbed for his second violin he used for the classical songs.

 

“Come on, Princess,” he said, winking at her. “Let’s see how many of these you know.”

 

She smiled. She knew all of them.

  
~*~

 

The rest of the night was a blur. 

 

She played the next six songs with them until she finally got self-conscious about stealing the spotlight and refused, handing the violin back to Dominic. They forced her to come out and take a bow at the end and play the encore with them. 

 

They split a bottle of whiskey backstage afterwards, and despite Ben’s best efforts to go immediately back to the hotel with her, the rest of the Knights convinced them to come to the bar for an hour afterwards. 

 

Carlos found the video on Instagram first, reposting it to his own account. Someone had filmed Rey playing “Smooth Criminal” with them. 

 

#Rey Johnson #violinKaween #steponme #SHE #KnightsofRen #KyloRen #burymewiththis

 

“Is this okay?” she asked Ben as Carlos found two more Instagram videos and one YouTube video of the entire performance of “Highway to Hell.”

 

Ben swallowed his scotch and said, “Of course. Why wouldn’t it be?”

 

She nodded into her glass, trying to shake off the feeling of imposter syndrome.

 

When Dominic tried to buy her another drink, Ben stopped him and all but  _ dragged _ her from the bar into a taxi. His fingers danced along her thigh in the backseat. In the elevator up to their suite, Ben pushed up against the wall and angled her head so he could kiss her while his thigh slid between hers. She moaned all forty floors up.

 

Getting the key in the door was a huge ordeal that Ben didn’t seem to have the patience for, so Rey took it from him and let them in. He carried her in, pressing her body tightly to his as he kissed at her.

 

“You were remarkable tonight,” he hummed into her neck. “The way the lights hit you…” A kiss against her throat. “We have to watch those videos so you can see yourself.” His tongue against her skin, and his hips rolled into her. “Fuck, I wanted to fuck you all night.”

 

Rey still wasn’t sure how Ben was able to leave her breathless with just the words that came out of his mouth. Sinful, sinful words. She could do nothing but smile into his shoulder. 

 

His hands slid up her ribs, tracing the grooves in her ripped t-shirt. She chuckled as he traced her skin, a weightless feeling filling her head.

 

“What?” he said, pulling back to smile down at her.

 

“Just thinking of seventeen-year-old Rey,” she said, “if I told her she’d get to see the Knights of Ren live, play onstage with them, and then go back to Kylo Ren’s hotel room.”

 

She grinned and leaned up on her toes to kiss him softly. 

 

“Mm. Seventeen-year-old Ben wouldn’t have believed it either, if I told him he’d get to take someone like you back to his hotel room,” he mumbled against her lips.

 

“Seventeen-year-old Ben could get it.”

 

“He could  _ not _ .”

 

“Some people like ears.”

 

“Oh, fuck you—“

 

She laughed and he lifted her up, grabbing at her thighs as they wrapped around him. He walked her to the king-size bed in the middle of the suite, dropping her to bounce on the mattress with a yelp. Scrambling up the bed, she kicked off her boots and pulled her shirt over her head. 

 

A humming sound from somewhere.

 

Ben stood from unlacing his boots to pull his phone from his jeans pocket, frown at it, then silence the buzzing and place it on the bedside table with his room key and wallet. Before she could ask if he needed to answer, he’d grabbed her ankles, pulling her down to him, and starting on unbuttoning her jeans.

 

Rey giggled, breathless and grabbing for the back of his shirt to pull over his head. His hands were frenzied on her hips, rolling the tight denim over her ass and down her thighs. He left them hanging from her knees, reached for her waist, and as easily as if she were a doll, she was flipped to her stomach, ass in the air. 

 

Kisses against her backside, and Rey gasped when he pressed his lips to her, mouthing at her over her black lace underwear. 

 

The quick buzz of a voicemail notification. 

 

Rey turned her head to his phone on the nightstand, but Ben ignored it, pulling the lace to the side and starting to lap at her. Long, flat strokes that quivered her thighs and pulled the breath from her lungs. 

 

It wasn’t long before he had her groaning into the mattress, squirming to do anything but just kneel with her hips in the air. Rey came against his tongue as his fingers circled her clit, dragging a shout from her lungs, still trembling when she heard him stand and unzip. She tried to wiggle around for a better position, but her jeans around her knees made it difficult.

 

Ben’s hand dropped on her hip, holding her where she was, and she turned over her shoulder to find him watching her, waiting. She nodded, and he pushed in slowly. Torturously slow. 

 

A deep vibrating from the nightstand. 

 

Rey pushed her face into the mattress and groaned when he bottomed out, filling places inside of her only meant for him. Her fingers curled into the hotel bedspread. His breath was loud in the room, drowning out the buzzing. 

 

Sometimes he would do this: just pause inside of her, fully buried. She couldn’t figure out if he was waiting for her to beg him to do something else. There were times – especially after she’d just come – when her cunt would clench down on him, holding him in waves of aftershocks, pressing in places that swirled low in her. Times like right now. 

 

“ _ God _ ,” Rey moaned into the covers as her walls fluttered, rippling around him, so close to a second release. Her back arched up, and she rolled her hips under him, feeling him slip through and over her like a bow across strings. 

 

His breath cracked, and his free hand pressed down on her back, pausing her. “ _ Fuck _ .” And then his fingers slipped around, sliding through her slickness, and thrumming at her clit. 

 

Her hips jerked, the electric feeling shooting through her, her walls gripping him even as he refused to move inside of her. But it was enough. She felt it twisting in her, clenching down on him until there was no space left inside of her that wasn’t Ben. One last hard press to her clit, and Rey gasped, shuddering her release over him, her thighs twitching. 

 

She wasn’t even done yet when he started fucking her. 

 

And that made it last  _ forever _ .

 

Her nails clawed at the bedspread, her raw voice crying on every slap of his hips against hers. She fluttered down, listening to him grunt and moan and whisper strings of words together. 

 

Short staccato movements, increasing tempo, and then Ben moaned, bending over her to huff into her hair as he came. 

 

Soft kisses against her back, tracing down her spine. Rey caught her breath as Ben pulled out. 

 

“Get naked,” he demanded. “I’m going to shower.” A kiss on her shoulder. “So either join me, or be ready to go again.”

 

She laughed, and he landed a soft smack to her ass before walking away. Rey peeled her jeans the rest of the way down her legs, and tossed them across the room before curling into the mattress. 

 

The whiskey and tequila were making her brain happy, and her body thrummed with the energy of her latest orgasm as Ben turned the water on in the bathroom.

 

A buzzing from the nightstand again.

 

Rey turned her head to stare at the phone. She checked that Ben wasn’t coming out any time soon, and flipped the phone over.

 

_ Snoke _ .

 

Her stomach plummeted, and suddenly she was very sober. She watched as the call went to “missed call,” and she saw on his lock screen that he had seven missed calls and twelve texts. 

 

She placed his phone back, pressing her lips together. It wasn’t Ben’s fault. If anything, it was Dominic’s idea to let her take his violin, and the audience’s cheering didn’t help either. 

 

The water turned off. Ben’s hair was still wet when he came out of the bathroom, tossing the towel somewhere and crawling over the mattress toward her. 

 

“Your phone keeps going off.”

 

“Ignore it,” he said, kissing up her stomach until his wet hair brushed her jaw.

 

“Are you sure it’s not important?”

 

He dropped a kiss between her breasts and looked up into her eyes. “Absolutely. Nothing is more important than what we’re doing right now.” He smirked at her, and pressed his mouth to her breast, teasing her nipple with soft brushes of his lips. “Now, if I remember correctly,” he whispered, moving to her other breast, “you owe me a screaming orgasm.”

 

She smiled at the ceiling and ran her fingers through his wet hair. Pushing at his shoulders, she got him to lay on his back as she straddled him and kissed down his chest. He was already hard again, and she pumped him slowly before guiding him to her entrance. 

 

His hands were on her hips, her thighs, her clit. Ben could never just lie there and enjoy. He always had to be touching her. When her hands tried grabbing the headboard in front of her, his head angled up and sucked on her nipples as she pumped her hips on him. She sat up tall and changed the position. He groaned in the back of his throat and grabbed her waist, fully lifting her up and dropping her back down on his cock. Rey squealed, bracing herself on his chest and tried to help, but he lifted her up and down on him with ease, muttering curse words and “love yous” until his hips started meeting hers. 

 

His phone buzzed. 

 

Her eyes jumped to it, and she felt her orgasm drift away. 

 

“Ignore it,” he moaned, snapping his hips up to hers. 

 

“Ben…”

 

He sighed and stopped thrusting. He reached for the phone lifting it to his ear and snapped, “What.”

 

Rey… didn’t expect for him to still be inside of her when he talked to Snoke. She tried to dismount, but his hand snapped up to her hip, holding her there. 

 

“I’m busy, so if you could cut to the chase,” he hissed. She watched him worry his lip between his teeth. “Yes, she’s here, too. You’re interrupting.”

 

Rey’s eyes widened, but before she could try to end the intercourse portion of this phone call, his palm had slid up her waist to tweak her breast. His eyes unfocused and he licked his lips as he rolled her nipple. The sensation shot straight to her core, and she tightened around his cock. She slapped a hand over her mouth and watched as Ben’s eyes flashed dangerously at her. 

 

He rolled his hips slowly, sliding in and out barely an inch each time. She laughed at him, like a teenager trying to sneak his girlfriend in through the window. He’d respond to something Snoke said with a noncommittal noise, his eyes drifting over her stomach to watch his cock disappear into her. 

 

She pressed both hands to her mouth, desperate not to make a sound while Snoke was on the phone, but also… the way Ben was fucking her slowly, like they could get caught any moment… Rey started moving her hips with him. His eyes fluttered, and his head dropped back against the pillow. 

 

And then suddenly, Ben was sitting up, his eyes wide. 

 

“Say that again,” he said into the phone. His eyes looked up at her, and she held very, very still, hoping to hear some snippet through the phone. 

 

“When?” he said. The corner of his mouth lifted. And then abruptly, “You are  _ not _ representing her.” 

 

Rey blinked, still in his lap. 

 

“I don’t give a fuck,” he hissed. “She’ll find someone else. She isn’t signing with you.”

 

She felt her heart flutter. There was something big happening.

 

“Tell them yes,” he said. “We’ll talk more in the morning.” He ended the call and looked up at her. 

 

“What is it?” Her voice was airy and tense.

 

“U2 is going on tour again. Their people saw the video from tonight.” He reached up and pushed her hair back, holding her cheek. He smiled. “They want Rey Johnson and the Knights of Ren to open for them.”

 

She felt tight everywhere, like her skin didn’t belong to her. There was a lot in that one sentence. 

 

_ Rey Johnson and the Knights of Ren _

 

_ U2 _

 

_ Tour _

 

She didn’t know how long it took her to process everything, but when her brain had returned to normal speed, Ben was kissing her neck, whispering words about “perfect” and “future” and “ours.”

 

“Ben,” she breathed, feeling him thrusting in and out of her again. “Ben, I can’t leave New York. I have the Pops.”

 

He pulled back to look at her, his lips bright red against his pale skin. “What?”

 

“We have the Pops,” she said, reminding him. 

 

He stared at her. “Rey. This is U2. This is international.”

 

“Ben. I’m First Chair in the NY Pops. I have a full time position there.” She shook her head, her brows coming together, trying to figure out why she needed to explain this. “We’re not even halfway through the season. When does the U2 start?”

 

“December 22, in Los Angeles.” He said it so simply. 

 

“The Christmas concert is on the 24th.” 

 

Ben stared up at her, like they were speaking different languages. “The New York Pops will still be there. This tour won’t be.”

 

She thought of Luke and Leia, the financial difficulties that caused them to reach out to Kylo Ren again. And now their two most effective sources of publicity were leaving for the rest of the season? 

 

No.

 

“What about Luke? Ben, what about Leia?”

 

His thumb brushed her cheek. His eyes burrowed into hers, searching for her meaning. And he said, “What about them?”

 

She felt his hands on her skin, his cock still inside of her, and his breath on her face. And she’d never felt further away from him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on [ Tumblr ](https://lovesbitca8.tumblr.com/) and [ Twitter ](https://twitter.com/).


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